THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


ENGLISH    gilEN   OF   LETTEliS 
CRABBE 


ENGLISH    ^TEN    OF   LETTERS 


CRABBE 


BY 


ALFRED     AINGER 


LONDON:    MACMILLAN    ^5*    CO.,    LIMITED 
NINETEEN     HUNDRED     AND     THREE 


Copyright  in  the  United  States  of  America,  1903 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

The  chief,  and  almost  sole,  source  of  information 
concerning  Crabbe  is  the  Memoir  by  his  son  prefixed 
to  the  collected  edition  of  bis  poems  in  1834.  Com- 
paratively few  letters  of  Crabbe's  have  been  pre- 
served :  but  a  small  and  interesting  series  will  be 
found  in  the  "Leadbeater  Papers"  (1862),  consisting 
of  letters  addressed  to  Mary  Leadbeater,  the  daughter 
of  Burke's  friend,  Richard  Shackleton. 

I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  John  Murray  for  kindly 
lending  me  many  manuscript  sermons  and  letters 
of  Crabbe's  and  a  set  of  commonplace  books  in 
which  the  poet  had  entered  fragments  of  cancelled 
poems,  botanical  memoranda,  and  other  miscellaneous 
matter. 

Of  especial  service  to  me  has  been  a  copy  of 
Crabbe's  Memoir  by  his  son  M^ith  abundant  annota- 
tions by  Edward  FitzGerald,  whose  long  intimacy  with 
Crabbe's  son  and  grandson  had  enabled  him  to  illus- 
trate the  text  with  many  anecdotes  and  comments  of 


Ti  CTIABBE 

interest  chiefly  derived  from  those  relatives.  This 
volume  has  been  most  kindly  placed  at  my  disposal 
by  Mr.  W.  Aldis  Wright,  FitzGerald's  literary 
executor. 

Finally,  I  have  once  again  to  thanlc  my  old  friend 
the  Master  of  Peterhouse  for  his  careful  reading  of 
my  proof  sheets. 

A.  A. 

Juhj  1903. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    I 

Eauly  Like  i.v  Alueisurgh 1 

CHAPTER    11 
PovEKTY  IN  London 18 

CHAPTER    III 
Friendship  with  Burke 34 

CHAPTER    IV 
Like  at  Belvoir  Castle 55 

CHAPTER    V 
In  Suffolk  again 71 

CHAPTER    VI 
"TuE  Parish  Register" 91 

CHAPTER    Vii 
"The  Borough" 108 

CHAPTER    VIII 
"Tales" 128 


CRABBE 
CHAPTER    IX 


PAGE 


VisiTixG  IN  London •^*" 

CHAPTER    X 


"Tales  of  the  Hall" 


163 


CHAPTER    XI 

Last  Years  at  Tkowbridge 184 

.      205 


CBABBE 

CHAPTEli   I 

EARLY    LIFE    IX    ALDEBURGH 
(1754-1780) 

Two  eminent  English  poets  who  must  1)0  reckoned 
moderns  though  each  produced  chaivacteristic  verse 
before  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  George 
Crabbe  and  William  AVordsworth,  have  shared  the 
common  fate  of  those  writers  who,  possessing  a  very- 
moderate  power  of  self-criticism,  are  apparently  unable 
to  discriminate  between  their  good  work  and  their  bad. 
Both  have  suffered,  and  still  suffer,  in  public  estimation 
from  this  cause.  The  average  reader  of  poetry  does 
not  care  to  have  to  search  and  select  for  himself,  and  is 
prone  summarily  to  dismiss  a  writer  (especially  a  poet) 
on  the  evidence  of  his  inferior  productions.  Words- 
worth, by  far  the  greater  of  the  two  poets,  has  survived 
the  effects  of  his  first  offence,  and  has  grown  in  popu- 
larity and  influence  for  half  a  century  past.  Crabbe, 
for  many  other  reasons  that  I  shall  have  to  trace,  has 
declined  in  public  favour  during  a  yet  longer  period, 
and  the  combined  bulk  and  inequality  of  his  poetry 
have  permanently  injured  him,  even  as  they  injured 
his  younger  contemporary. 


2  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

Widely  as  these  two  poets  differed  in  subjects  and 
methods,  they  achieved  kindred  results  and  played  an 
equally  important  part  in  the  revival  of  the  human  and 
emotional  virtues  of  poetry  after  their  long  eclipse 
under  the  shadow  of  Pope  and  his  school.  Each  was 
primarily  made  a  poet  through  compassion  for  what 
"man  had  made  of  man,"  and  through  a  concurrent  and 
sympathetic  influence  of  the  scenery  among  which  he 
was  brought  up.  Crabbe  was  by  sixteen  years  Words- 
worth's senior,  and  owed  nothing  to  his  inspiration.  In 
the  form,  and  at  times  in  the  technique  of  his  verse, 
his  controlling  master  was  Pope.  For  its  subjects  he 
was  as  clearly  indebted  to  Goldsmith  and  Gray.  But 
for  TJie  Deserted  Village  of  the  one,  and  The  Elegy  of  the 
other,  it  is  conceivable  that  Crabbe,  though  he  might 
have  survived  as  one  of  the  "  mob  of  gentlemen  "  who 
imitated  Pope  "  with  ease,"  would  never  have  learned 
where  his  true  strength  lay,  and  thus  have  lived  as  one 
of  the  first  and  profoundest  students  of  The  Annals  of 
the  Poor.  For  The  Village,  one  of  the  earliest  and  not 
least  valuable  of  his  poems,  was  written  (in  part,  at 
least)  as  early  as  1781,  while  Wordsworth  was  yet  a 
child,  and  before  Cowper  had  published  a  volume.  In 
yet  another  respect  Crabbe  was  to  work  hand  in  hand 
with  Wordsworth.  He  does  not  seem  to  have  held 
definite  opinions  as  to  necessary  reforms  in  what 
Wordsworth  called  "poetic  diction."  Indeed  he  "was 
hampered,  as  Wordsworth  was  not,  by  a  lifelong 
adherence  to  a  metre — the  heroic  couplet — ■\\dth  which 
this  same  poetic  diction  was  most  closely  bound  up. 
He  did  not  always  escape  the  effects  of  this  contagion, 
but  in  the  main  he  was  delivered  from  it  by  what  I 
have    called  a   first-hand   association   with   man   and 


i.l  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBUKGH  3 

nature.  lie  was  ever  describing  what  lie  had  seen  and 
studied  with  his  own  eyes,  and  the  vocabulary  of  the 
bards  who  had  for  generations  borrowed  it  from  one 
another  failed  to  supply  him  with  the  words  he  needed. 
The  very  limitations  of  the  first  five-and-twenty  years 
of  his  life  passed  in  a  small  and  decaying  seaport 
were  more  than  compensated  by  the  intimacy  of  his 
acquaintance  with  its  inhabitants.  Like  Wordsworth 
he  had  early  known  love  and  sorrow  "  in  huts  where 
poor  men  lie." 

Wordsworth's  fame  and  influence  have  grown 
steadily  since  his  death  in  1850.  Crabbe's  reputation 
was  appaiently  at  its  height  in  1819,  for  it  was  then, 
on  occasion  of  his  publishing  his  Tales  of  the  Hall,  that 
Mr.  John  Murraj'-  paid  him  three  thousand  pounds  for 
the  copyright  of  this  work,  and  its  predecessors.  But 
after  that  date  Crabbe's  popularity  may  be  said  to  have 
continuously  declined.  Other  poets,  with  other  and 
more  purely  poetical  gifts,  arose  to  claim  men's  atten- 
tion. Besides  Wordsworth,  as  already  pointed  out, 
Scott,  Byron,  Coleridge,  Keats,  Shelley  had  found 
their  various  admirers,  and  drawn  Crabbe's  old  public 
from  him.  It  is  the  purpose  of  this  little  volume  to 
inquire  into  the  reasons  why  he  is  still  justly  counted 
a  classic,  and  whether  he  has  not,  as  Tennyson  said  of 
him,  "a  world  of  his  own,"  still  rich  in  interest  and  in 
profit  for  the  explorer. 

Aldeburgh — or  as  it  came  to  be  more  commonly 
spelled  in  modern  times,  Aldborough — is  to-day  a 
pleasant  and  quiet  watering-place  on  the  coast  of 
Suffolk,  only  a  few  miles  from  Saxmundham,  with 
which  it  is  connected  by  a  branch  line  of  the  Great 


4  CRABBE  [cuAP. 

Eastern  "Railway.  It  began  to  be  known  for  its  lino 
air  anil  sea-bathing  about  tho  middle  of  the  last 
centnry,  and  to-day  possesses  otlior  attractions  for 
the  yachtsman  and  the  golfer.  Bnt  a  hnndred  years 
earlier,  when  Crabbe  was  born,  the  town  possessed 
none  of  these  advantages  and  means  of  access,  to 
amend  the  poverty  and  rough  manners  of  its  boating 
and  tishing  inhabitants.  In  the  sixteenth  ai\d  seven- 
teenth centuries  Aldeburgh  had  been  a  flourishing  port 
with  a  population  able  to  provide  notable  aid  in  the 
hour  of  national  danger.  Successive  Royal  Charters 
had  accorded  to  the  town  markets,  with  other  im- 
portant rights  and  privileges.  It  had  returned  two 
members  to  Parliament  since  early  in  the  days  of 
Elizabeth,  and  indeed  continued  to  do  so  until  the 
Reform  Bill  of  1831.  But,  in  common  with  Dunwich, 
and  other  once  flourishing  ports  on  the  same  coast, 
Aldeburgh  had  for  its  most  fatal  enemy,  the  sea.  The 
gradual  encroachments  of  that  irresistible  power  had 
in  the  course  of  two  centuries  buried  a  large  portion 
of  the  ancient  Borough  beneath  the  waves.  Two 
existing  maps  of  the  town,  one  of  about  1590,  the 
other  about  1790,  show  how  extensive  this  devasta- 
tion had  been.  This  cause,  and  others  arising  from 
it,  the  gradual  decay  of  the  shipping  and  fishing 
industries,  had  left  the  town  in  the  main  a  poor  and 
S([ualid  place,  the  scene  of  much  smuggling  and  other 
lawlessness.  Time  and  the  ocean  wave  had  left  only 
"two  parallel  and  unpaved  streets,  running  between 
mean  and  scrambling  houses."  Nor  was  there  much 
relief,  .esthetic  or  other,  in  the  adjacent  country, 
which  was  flat,  marshy,  and  treeless,  continually  swept 
by  northern  and  easterly  gales.     A  river,   the  Aid, 


1]  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBURGH  5 

from  M'hi<h  the  place  took  its  name,  approached  the 
sea  close  to  the  town  from  the  west,  and  then  took  a 
turn,  flowing  south,  till  it  finally  entered  the  sea  at 
the  neighlxjuring  harlxjur  of  Orford. 

In  Aldebuigh,  on  ChiistmaB  Eve  1754,  George 
Crahbe  was  bom.  He  came  of  a  family  bearing  a 
name  widely  diffused  throughout  Xor-folk  and  Suffolk 
for  many  generations.  His  father,  aft«r  school-teaching 
in  various  parishes  in  the  neighbourhood,  finally  settled 
down  in  his  native  place  as  collector  of  the  salt  duties, 
a  [>ost  which  his  father  had  filled  before  him  Here  as 
a  very  young  man  he  married  an  estimable  and  pious 
widow,  named  Loddock,  some  years  his  senior,  and  had  a 
family  of  six  children,  of  whom  George  was  the  eldest. 

Within  the  limits  of  a  few  miles  round,  including 
the  towns  and  \'illages  of  Slaughden,  Orford,  Parham, 
Beccles,  Stowmarket,  and  Woodbridge,  the  first  five- 
and-twenty  years  of  the  poet's  life  were  spent.  He 
had  but  slight  interest  in  the  pursuits  of  the  inhabitants. 
His  father,  brought  up  among  its  fishing  and  boating 
interests,  was  something  nautical  in  his  ambitions, 
having  a  partnership  in  a  fishing-boat,  and  keeping  a 
yacht  on  the  river.  His  other  sons  shared  their 
father's  tastes,  while  George  showed  no  aptitude  or 
liking  for  the  sea,  but  from  his  earliest  years  evinced 
a  fondness  for  books,  and  a  marked  aptitude  for  learn- 
ing. He  was  sent  early  to  the  usual  dame-school,  and 
developed  an  insatiable  appetite  for  such  stories  and 
ballads  as  were  current  among  the  neighbours.  George 
Crabbe,  the  elder,  possessed  a  few  books,  and  used  to 
read  aloud  to  his  family  passages  from  Milton,  Young, 
and  other  didactic  poets  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Furthermore  he  took  in  a  country  magazine,   which 


6  CRABBE  [i;hap. 

had  a  "  Poet's  Corner,"  always  handed  over  to  George 
for  his  special  benefit.  The  father,  respecting  these 
early  signs  of  a  literary  bent  in  the  son,  sent  him  to  a 
small  boarding-school  at  Bungay  in  the  same  county, 
and  a  few  years  later  to  one  of  higher  pretensions  at 
Stowmarket,  kept  by  a  Mr.  Eichard  Haddoii,  a  mathe- 
matical teacher  of  some  repute,  W'here  the  boy  also 
acquired  some  mastery  of  Latin  and  acquaintance  with 
the  Latiji  classics.  In  his  later  years  he  was  given 
(perhaps  a  little  ostentatiously)  to  prefixing  quotations 
from  Horace,  Juvenal,  Martial,  and  even  more  recondite 
authors,  to  the  successive  sections  of  The  Borough.  But 
wherever  he  found  books — especially  poetry — he  read 
them  and  remembered  them.  He  early  showed  con- 
siderable acquaintance  with  the  best  English  poets, 
and  although  Pope  controlled  his  metrical  forms,  and 
something  more  than  the  forms,  to  the  end  of  his  life, 
he  had  somehow  acquired  a  wide  knowledge  of 
Shakespeare,  and  even  of  such  then  less  known  poets 
as  Spenser,  Kaleigh,  and  Cowley. 

After  some  three  years  at  Stowmarket — it  now 
being  settled  that  medicine  was  to  be  his  calling — 
George  was  taken  from  school,  and  the  search  began 
in  earnest  for  some  country  practitioner  to  whom  he 
might  be  apprenticed.  An  interval  of  a  few  months 
was  spent  at  home,  during  which  he  assisted  his  father 
at  the  office  on  Slaughden  Quay,  and  in  the  year  1768, 
when  he  was  still  under  fourteen  years  of  age,  a  post 
was  found  for  him  in  the  house  of  a  surgeon  at 
Wickham-Brook,  near  Bury  St.  Edmunds.  This  prac- 
titioner combined  the  practice  of  agriculture  on  a 
small  scale  with  that  of  physic,  and  young  Crabbe 
had  to  take  his  share  in  the  labours  of  the  farm.     The 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBURGH  7 

result  was  not  satisfactory,  and  after  throe  years 
of  this  rough  and  uncongenial  life,  a  more  profitable 
situation  was  found  with  a  Mr.  Page  of  Woodbridge — 
the  memorable  home  of  Bernard  Barton  and  Edward 
FitzGcrald.  Crabbe  became  Mr.  Page's  pupil  in  1771, 
and  remained  with  him  until  1775. 

We  have  the  authority  of  Crabbe's  son  and  bio- 
grapher for  saying  that  ho  never  really  cared  for  the 
profession  he  had  adopted.  What  proficiency  he 
finally  attained  in  it,  before  he  forsook  it  for  ever,  is 
not  quite  clear.  But  it  is  certain  that  his  residence 
among  the  more  civilised  and  educated  inhabitants  of 
Woodbridge  was  of  the  greatest  service  to  him.  He 
profited  notably  by  joining  a  little  club  of  young  men 
who  met  on  certain  evenings  at  an  inn  for  discussion 
and  mutual  improvement.  To  this  little  society 
Crabbe  was  to  owe  one  chief  happiness  of  his  life. 
One  of  its  members,  Mr.  W.  S.  Levett,  a  surgeon  (one 
wonders  if  a  relative  of  Samuel  Johnson's  protege), 
was  at  this  time  courting  a  Miss  Brereton,  of  Fram- 
lingham,  ten  miles  away.  Mr.  Levett  died  young  in 
1774,  and  did  not  live  to  marry,  but  during  his  brief 
friendship  with  Crabbe  was  the  means  of  introducing 
him  to  the  lady  who,  after  many  years  of  patient 
waiting,  became  his  wife.  In  the  village  of  Gre  \t 
Parham,  not  far  from  Framlingham,  lived  a  Mr.  Toveli, 
of  Parham  Hall,  a  substantial  yeoman,  farming  his 
own  estate.  With  Mr.  and  ]\Irs.  Tovcll  and  their 
only  child,  a  daughter,  lived  an  orphan  niece  of  Mr, 
Tovell's,  a  Miss  Sarah  Elmy,  Miss  Brereton's  bosom- 
friend,  and  constant  companion.  Mr.  Levett  had  in 
consequence  become  the  friend  of  the  Toveli  family, 
and   conceived    the    desire    that    his    young   friend, 


8  CRABBE  [chap. 

Crabbe,  should  be  as  blessed  as  himself.  "George," 
he  said,  "  you  shall  go  with  me  to  Parham ;  there  is  a 
young  lady  there  Avho  would  just  suit  you !  "  Crabbe 
accepted  the  invitation,  made  Mr.  Tovell's  acquaint- 
ance, and  promptly  fell  in  love  with  Mr.  Tovell's  niece. 
The  poet,  at  that  time,  had  not  yet  completed  his 
eighteenth  year. 

How  soon  after  this  first  meeting  George  Crabbe 
proposed  and  was  accepted,  is  not  made  clear,  but  he 
was  at  least  welcomed  to  the  house  as  a  friend  and  an 
admirer,  and  his  further  visits  encouraged.  His 
youth  and  the  extreme  uncertainty  of  his  prospects 
could  not  well  have  been  agreeable  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tovell,  or  to  Miss  Elmy's  widowed  mother  who 
lived  not  far  away  at  Beccles,  but  the  young  lady 
herself  returned  her  lover's  affection  from  the  first, 
and  never  faltered.  The  three  following  years,  during 
which  Crabbe  remained  at  Woodbridge,  gave  him  the 
opportunity  of  occasional  visits,  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  apart  from  the  fascinations  of  his  "  Mira," 
by  which  name  he  proceeded  to  celebrate  her  in 
occasional  verse,  the  experience  of  country  life  and 
scenery,  so  different  from  that  of  his  native  Aldeburgh, 
was  of  great  service  in  enlarging  his  poetical  outlook. 
Great  Parham,  distant  about  five  miles  from  Sax- 
mundham,  and  about  thirteen  from  Aldeburgh,  is  at 
this  day  a  village  of  great  rural  charm,  although  a 
single-lined  branch  of  the  Great  Eastern  wanders 
boldly  among  its  streams  and  cottage  gardens  through 
the  very  heart  of  the  place.  The  dwelling  of  the 
Tovells  has  many  years  ago  disappeared — an  entirely 
new  hall  having  risen  on  the  old  site ;  but  there 
stands  in   the  parish,  a    few    fields    away,   an  older 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBURCII  9 

Parham  Hall ; — to-flay  a  farm-house,  dear  to  artists,  of 
singular  picturesqucness,  surrouiuled  and  even  washed 
by  a  deep  moat,  and  shaded  1»y  tall  trees — a  haunt, 
indeed,  "of  ancient  peace."  The  neighbourhood  of 
this  old  Hall,  and  the  luxuriant  beauty  of  the  inland 
village,  so  refreshing  a  contrast  to  the  barrenness  and 
ugliness  of  the  country  round  his  native  town,  enriched 
Crabbc's  mind  with  many  memories  that  served  him 
well  in  his  later  poetry. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  practising  verse,  though  as 
yet  showing  little  individuality.  A  Lady's  Magazine  of 
the  day,  bearing  the  name  of  its  publisher,  Mr.  Wheble, 
had  oiicred  a  prize  for  the  best  poem  on  the  subject  of 
Hope,  which  Crabbe  was  so  fortunate  as  to  win,  and  the 
same  magazine  printed  other  short  pieces  in  the  same 
year,  1772.  They  were  signed  "G.  C,  Woodbridge," 
and  included  divers  lyrics  addressed  to  Mira.  Other 
extant  verses  of  the  period  of  his  residence  at  Wood- 
bridge  show  that  he  was  making  experiments  in  stanza- 
form  on  the  model  of  earlier  English  poets,  though 
without  showing  mere  than  a  certain  imitative  skill. 
But  after  he  had  been  three  years  in  the  town,  he 
made  a  more  notable  experiment  and  had  found  a 
printer  in  Ipswich  to  take  the  risk  of  publication.  In 
1775  was  printed  in  that  town  a  didactic  satire  of  some 
four  hundred  lines  in  the  Popian  couplet,  entitled 
Inehriety.  Coleridge's  friend,  who  had  to  write  a  prize 
poem  on  the  subject  of  Dr.  Jenner,  boldly  opened  with 
the  invocation — 

"  Inoculation  !  Heavenly  maid,  descend." 

As  the  title  of  Crabbc's  poem  stands  for  the  bane 
and  not  the  antidote,  he  could  not  adopt  the  same 


10  CRABBE  [OHAP. 

method,  but  he  could  not  resist  some  other  precedents 
of  the  epic  sort,  and  begins  thus,  in  close  imitation  of 
The  Dunciad — 

"  The  mighty  spirit,  and  its  power  whicli  stains 
The  bloodless  cheek  iiud  vivifies  the  brains, 
I  sing." 

The  apparent  object  of  the  satire  was  to  describe  the 
varied  phases  of  Intemperance,  as  observed  by  the 
writer  in  different  classes  of  society — the  Villager,  the 
Squire,  the  Farmer,  the  Parish  Clergyman,  and  even 
the  Nobleman's  Chaplain,  an  official  whom  Crabbe  as  yet 
knew  only  by  imagination.  From  childhood  he  had 
had  ample  experience  of  the  vice  in  the  rough  and 
reckless  homes  of  the  Aldeburgh  poor.  His  subse- 
quent medical  pursuits  must  have  brought  him  into 
occasional  contact  with  it  among  the  middle  classes, 
and  even  in  the  manor-houses  and  parsonages  for 
which  he  made  up  the  medicine  in  his  master's  surgery. 
But  his  treatment  of  the  subject  was  too  palpably 
imitative  of  one  poetic  model,  already  stale  from 
repetition.  Not  only  did  he  choose  Pope's  couplet, 
with  all  its  familiar  antitheses  and  other  mannerisms, 
but  frankly  avowed  it  by  parodying  whole  passages 
from  the  Essay  on  Man  and  The  Dunciad,  the  original 
lines  being  duly  printed  at  the  foot  of  the  page.  There 
is  little  of  Crabbe 's  later  accent  of  sympathy.  Epi- 
gram is  too  obviously  pursued,  and  much  of  the 
suggested  acquaintance  with  the  habits  of  the  upper 
classes — 

"  Champagne  the  courtier  drinks,  the  spleen  to  chase, 
The  colonel  Burgundy,  and  Fort  his  grace  "— 

is   borrowed    from   books   and   not    from    life.     Nor 


I.]  EARLY  LIFK  IN  ALDEBURGH  U 

did  the  satire  gain  in  lucidity  from  any  editarial 
care.  Theio  arc  hardly  two  consecutive  lines  that  do 
not  sufl'er  from  a  truly  perverse  theory  of  punctuationi. 
A  copy  of  the  rare  original  is  in  the  writer's  possession, 
at  the  head  of  which  the  poet  has  inscribed  his  own 
maturer  judgment  of  this  youthful  effort — "Pray  let 
not  this  be  seen  .  .  .  there  is  very  little  of  it  that  I'  m 
not  heartily  ashamed  of."  The  little  quarto  pamphlet 
—"Ipswich,  printed  and  sold  by  C.  Punchard,  Book- 
seller, in  the  Butter  Market,  1775.  Price  one  shilling 
and  sixpence  " — seems  to  have  attracted  no  attention. 
And  yet  a  critic  of  experience  would  have  recognised 
in  it  a  force  as  well  as  a  fluency  remarkable  in  a  young 
man  of  twenty-one,  and  pointing  to  quite  other  possi- 
bilities when  the  age  of  imitation  should  have  j)assed 
away. 

In  1775  Crabbe's  term  of  apprenticeship  to  Mr. 
Page  expired,  and  he  returned  to  his  home  at  Alde- 
burgh,  hoping  soon  to  repair  to  London  and  there 
continue  his  medical  studies.  But  he  found  the 
domestic  situation  much  changed  for  the  worse.  His 
mother  (who,  as  we  have  seen,  was  several  years  older 
than  her  husband)  was  an  invalid,  and  his  father's 
habits  and  temper  were  not  improving  with  time.  He 
was  by  nature  imperious,  and  had  always  (it  would 
seem)  been  liable  to  intemperance  of  another  kind. 
Moreover,  a  contested  election  for  the  Borough  in  1774 
had  brought  with  it  its  familiar  temptations  to  pro- 
tracted debauch — and  it  is  significant  that  in  1775  he 
vacated  the  ofl&ce  of  churchwarden  that  he  had  held 
for  many  years.  George,  to  whom  his  father  was  not 
as  a  rule  unkind,  did  not  shrink  from  once  more 
assisting   him   among   llio  butter-tubs   on   Slaughden 


12  CRABBE  [chap. 

Quay.  Poetry  seems  to  have  been  for  a  while  laid 
aside,  the  failure  of  his  first  venture  having  perhaps 
discouraged  him.  Some  slight  amount  of  practice  in 
his  profession  fell  to  his  share.  An  entry  in  the 
Minute  Book  of  the  Aldeburgh  Board  of  Guardians  of 
September  17,  1775,  orders  "that  Mr.  George  Crabbe, 
Junr.,  shall  be  employed  to  cure  the  boy  Howard  of 
the  itch,  and  that  whenever  any  of  the  poor  shall  have 
occasion  for  a  surgeon,  the  overseers  shall  apply 
to  him  for  that  purpose."  But  these  very  oppor- 
tunities perhaps  only  served  to  show  George  Crabbe 
how  poorly  he  was  equipped  for  his  calling  as  surgeon, 
and  after  a  period  not  specified  means  were  found  for 
sending  him  to  London,  where  he  lodged  with  a  family 
from  Aldeburgh  who  were  in  business  in  Whitechapel. 
How  and  where  he  then  obtained  instruction  or  prac- 
tice in  his  calling  does  not  appear,  though  there  is  a 
gruesome  story,  recorded  by  his  son,  how  a  baby- 
subject  for  dissection  was  one  day  found  in  his  cup- 
board by  his  landlady,  who  was  hardly  to  be  persuaded 
that  it  was  not  a  lately  lost  infant  of  her  own.  In 
any  case,  within  a  year  Crabbe's  scanty  means  were 
exhausted,  and  he  was  once  more  in  Aldeburgh,  and 
assistant  to  an  apothecary  of  the  name  of  Maskill. 
This  gentleman  seems  to  have  found  Aldeburgh  hope- 
less, for  in  a  few  months  he  left  the  town,  and  Crabbe 
set  up  for  himself  as  his  successor.  But  he  was  still 
poorly  qualified  for  his  profession,  his  skill  in  surgery 
being  notably  deficient.  He  attracted  only  the  poorest 
class  of  patients — the  fees  were  small  and  uncertain— 
and  his  prospects  of  an  early  marriage,  or  even  of 
earning  his  living  as  a  single  man,  seemed  as  far  off 
as  ever.     Moreover,  he  was  again  cut  off  from  con- 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBURGH  13 

genial  companionship,  with  only  such  relief  as  was 
afforded  by  the  occasional  presence  in  the  town  of 
various  Militia  regiments,  the  ofTicers  of  which  gave 
him  some  of  their  patronage  and  society. 

He  had  still  happily  the  assurance  of  the  faithful 
devotion  of  Miss  Elmy.  Her  father  had  been  a  tanner 
in  the  Sullblk  town  of  Beccles,  where  her  mother  still 
resided,  and  where  Miss  Elmy  paid  her  occasional 
visits.  The  long  journey  from  Aldeburgh  to  Beccles 
was  often  taken  by  Crabbc,  and  the  changing  features 
of  the  scenery  traversed  were  reproduced,  his  son  tells 
us,  many  years  afterwards  in  the  beautiful  tale  of  The 
Lover^s  Journey.  The  tie  between  Crabbe  and  Miss 
Elmy  was  further  strengthened  by  a  dangerous  fever 
from  which  Crabbe  sulTered  in  1778-79,  while  Miss 
Elmy  was  a  guest  under  his  parents'  roof.  This  was 
succeeded  by  an  illness  of  Miss  Elmy,  when  Crabbe  was 
in  constant  attendance  at  Parham  Hall.  His  intimacy 
with  the  Tovells  was  moreover  to  be  strengthened  by 
a  sad  event  in  that  family,  the  death  of  their  only 
child,  an  engaging  girl  of  fourteen.  The  social 
position  of  the  Tovells,  and  in  greater  degree  their 
fortune,  was  superior  to  that  of  the  Crabbes,  and  the 
engagement  of  their  niece  to  one  whose  prospects 
were  so  little  brilliant  had  never  been  quite  to  their 
taste.  But  henceforth  this  feeling  was  to  disappear. 
This  crowning  sorrow  in  the  family  wrought  more 
cordial  feelings.  Crabbe  was  one  of  those  who  had 
known  and  been  kind  to  their  child,  and  such  were  now, 

"  Peculiar  people — death  had  made  thoiu  deav." 

And  henceforth  the  engagement  between  the  lovers 
was  frankly  accepted.     But  though  the  course  of  this 


14  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

true  love  was  to  run  more  and  more  smooth,  the 
question  of  Crabbe's  future  means  of  living  seemed  as 
hopeless  of  solution  as  ever. 

And  yet  the  enforced  idleness  of  these  following 
years  was  far  from  unprofitable.  The  less  time 
occupied  in  the  routine  work  of  his  profession,  the 
more  leisure  he  had  for  his  favourite  study  of  natural 
history,  and  especially  of  botany.  This  latter  study 
had  been  taken  up  during  his  stay  at  Woodbridge, 
the  neighbourhood  of  which  had  a  Flora  differing 
from  that  of  the  bleak  coast  country  of  Aldeburgh, 
and  it  was  now  pursued  with  the  same  zeal  at  home. 
Herbs  then  played  a  larger  part  than  to-day  among 
curative  agents  of  the  village  doctor,  and  the  fact 
that  Crabbe  sought  and  obtained  them  so  readily  was 
even  pleaded  l)y  his  poorer  patients  as  reason  why  his 
fees  need  not  be  calculated  on  any  large  scale.  But 
this  absorbing  pursuit  did  far  more  than  serve  to 
furnish  Crabbe's  outfit  as  a  healer.  It  was  un- 
doubtedly to  the  observing  eye  and  retentive  memory 
thus  practised  in  the  cottage  gardens,  and  in  the 
lanes,  and  meadows,  and  marshes  of  Suffolk  that  his 
descriptions,  when  once  he  found  where  his  true 
strength  lay,  owed  a  charm  for  which  readers  of  poetry 
had  long  been  hungering.  The  floral  outfit  of  pastoral 
poets,  when  Crabbe  began  to  write,  was  a  hortus  siccus 
indeed.  Distinctness  in  painting  the  common  growth 
of  field  and  hedgerow  may  be  said  to  have  had  its 
origin  with  Crabbe.  Gray  and  Goldsmith  had  their 
own  rare  and  special  gifts  to  which  Crabbe  could  lay 
no  claim.  But  neither  these  poets  nor  even  Thomson, 
whose  avowed  purpose  was  to  depict  nature,  are 
Crabbe's  rivals  in  this  respect.     Byron  in  the  most 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBURGH  15 

hackneyed  of  all  eulogies  upon  Crabbe  defined  him 
as  "Nature's  sternest  painter  yet  the  best."  The 
criticism  would  have  been  juster  luid  he  written  that 
Crabbe  was  the  truest  painter  of  Nature  in  her  less 
lovely  phases.  Crabbe  was  not  stern  in  his  attitude 
either  to  his  fellow-men,  or  to  the  varying  aspects  of 
Nature,  although  fur  the  first  years  of  his  life  he  was 
in  habitual  contact  with  the  less  alluring  side  of  both. 

But  it  was  not  only  through  a  closer  intimacy  with 
Nature  that  Crabbe  was  being  unconsciously  prepared 
for  high  poetic  service.  Hope  deferred  and  disap- 
pointments, poverty  and  anxiety,  were  doing  their 
beneficent  work.  Notwithstanding  certain  early  dis- 
sipations and  escapades  which  his  fellow-townsmen  did 
not  fail  to  remember  against  him  in  the  later  days  of 
his  success,  Crabbe  was  of  a  genuinely  religious  tem- 
perament, and  had  been  trained  by  a  devout  mother. 
Moreover,  through  a  nearer  and  more  sympathetic 
contact  with  the  lives  and  sorrows  of  the  poor  suffer- 
ing, he  was  storing  experience  full  of  value  for  the 
futui-e,  though  he  was  still  and  for  some  time  longer 
under  the  spell  of  the  dominant  poetic  fashion,  and 
still  hesitated  to  "look  into  his  heart  and  write." 

But  the  time  was  bound  to  come  when  he  must  put 
his  poetic  quality  to  a  final  test.  In  London  only 
could  he  hoj)e  to  prove  whether  the  verse,  of  which  he 
was  accumulating  a  store,  was  of  a  kind  that  men 
would  care  for.  He  must  discover,  and  speedily, 
whether  he  was  to  take  a  modest  place  in  the  ranks 
of  literature,  or  one  even  more  humble  in  the  shop  of 
an  apothecary.  After  weighing  his  chances  and  his 
risks  for  many  a  weary  day  he  took  the  final  resolution, 
and  his  son  has  told  us  the  circumstances  : — 


16  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

"One  gloomy  day  towards  the  close  of  the  year 
1779,  he  had  strolled  to  a  bleak  and  cheerless  part  of 
the  cliff  above  Aldeburgh,  called  The  Marsh  Hill, 
brooding  as  he  went  over  the  humiliating  necessities  of 
his  condition,  and  plucking  every  now  and  then,  I  have 
no  doubt,  the  hundredth  specimen  of  some  common 
weed.  He  stopped  opposite  a  shallow,  muddy  piece  of 
water,  as  desolate  and  gloomy  as  his  own  mind,  called 
the  Leech-pond,  and  'it  was  while  I  gazed  on  it,'  he 
said  to  my  brother  and  me,  one  happy  morning,  '  that  I 
determined  to  go  to  London  and  venture  all.'" 

About  thirty  years  latei',  Crabbe  contributed  to  a 
magazine  {The  New  Monthly)  some  particulars  of  his 
early  life,  and  referring  to  this  critical  moment  added 
that  he  had  not  then  heard  of  "another  youthful 
adventui'er,"  whose  fate,  had  he  known  of  it,  might 
perhaps  have  deterred  him  from  facing  like  calamities. 
Chatterton  had  "perished  in  his  pride"  nearly  ten 
years  before.  As  Crabbe  thus  recalled  the  scene  of 
his  own  resolve,  it  may  have  struck  him  as  a  touching 
coincidence  that  it  was  by  the  Leech-pool  on  "  the 
lonely  moor" — though  there  was  no  "Leech -gatherer" 
at  hand  to  lend  him  fortitude — that  he  resolved  to 
encounter  "Solitude,  pain  of  heart,  distress,  and 
poverty."  He  was,  indeed,  little  better  equipped  than 
Chatterton  had  been  for  the  enterprise.  His  father 
was  unable  to  assist  him  financially,  and  was  disposed 
to  reproach  him  for  forsaking  a  profession,  in  the 
cause  of  which  the  family  had  already  made  sacrifices. 
The  Crabbcs  and  all  their  connections  were  poor,  and 
George  scarcely  knew  any  one  whom  he  might 
appeal  to  for  even  a  loan.  At  length  Mr.  Dudley 
North,  of  Little  Glemham  Hall,  near  Parham,  whose 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE  IN  ALDEBURCH  17 

brother  had  stood  for  Aldeburgh,  was  approached,  and 
sent  the  sum  asked  for — five  pounds.  George  Cral)be, 
after  paying  his  debts,  set  sail  for  London  on  board  a 
sloop  at  Slaughdcn  Quay — "  master  of  a  box  of  clothes, 
a  small  case  of  surgical  instruments,  and  three  pounds 
in  money."     This  was  in  April  1780. 


CHAPTER  II 

POVERTY   IN    LONDON 

(1780-1781) 

Crabbe  had  no  acquaintances  of  his  own  in  London, 
and  the  only  introduction  he  carried  with  him  was  to 
an  old  friend  of  Miss  Elmy's,  a  Mrs.  Burcham,  married 
to  a  linen-di'aper  in  Cornhill.  In  order  to  be  near 
these  friendly  persons  he  took  lodgings,  close  to  the 
Royal  Exchange,  in  the  house  of  a  hairdresser,  a  Mr. 
Vickery,  at  whose  suggestion,  no  doubt,  he  provided 
himself  with  "a  fashionable  tie-wig."  Crabbe  at 
once  began  preparations  for  his  literary  campaign,  by 
correcting  such  verse  as  he  had  brought  with  him, 
completing  "two  dramas  and  a  variety  of  prose 
essays,"  and  generally  improving  himself  by  a  course 
of  study  and  practice  in  composition.  As  in  the  old 
Woodbridge  days,  he  made  some  congenial  acquaint- 
ances at  a  little  club  that  met  at  a  neighbouring  coffee- 
house, which  included  a  Mr.  Eonnycastle  and  a  Mr. 
Reuben  Burrow,  both  mathematicians  of  repute,  who 
rose  to  fill  important  positions  in  their  day.  These 
recreations  he  diversified  with  country  excursions, 
during  which  he  read  Horace  and  Ovid,  or  searched 
the  woods  around  London  for  plants  and  insects. 

From  his  first  arrival  in  town  Crabbe  kept  a  diary 


CHAP.  II.]  POVERTY  IN  LONDON  19 

or  journal,  addressed  to  his  "Mira"  at  Parham,  and  we 
owe  to  it  a  detailed  account  of  his  earlier  strug<j;les, 
three  months  of  the  journal  having  survived  and 
fallen  into  his  son's  hands  after  the  poet's  death. 
Crahbe  had  arrived  in  London  in  April,  and  by  the 
end  of  the  month  we  learn  from  the  journal  that  he 
was  engaged  upon  a  work  in  prose,  "  A  Plan  for  the 
Examination  of  our  Moral  and  Keligious  Opinions," 
and  also  on  a  poetical  "Epistle  to  Prince  William 
Henry,"  afterwards  AVilliam  iv.,  who  had  only  the 
year  before  entered  the  navy  as  midshipman,  but  had 
already  seen  some  service  under  Ilodney.  The  next 
day's  entry  in  the  diaiy  tells  how  he  was  not  neglect- 
ing other  possible  chances  of  an  honest  livelihood.  He 
had  answered  an  advertisement  in  the  Daily  Advertiser 
for  "an  amanuensis,  of  grammatical  education,  and 
endued  with  a  genius  capable  of  making  improvements 
in  the  writings  of  a  gentleman  not  well  versed  in  the 
English  language."  Two  days  later  he  called  for  a 
reply,  only  to  find  that  the  gentleman  was  suited. 
The  same  day's  entry  also  records  how  he  had  sent 
his  poem  (probably  the  ode  to  the  young  Sailor- 
Prince)  to  Mr.  Dodsley.  Only  a  day  later  he  writes: 
"Judging  it  best  to  have  two  strings  to  the  bow,  and 
fearing  Mr.  Dodsley's  will  snap,  I  have  finished 
another  little  work  from  that  awkward-titled  piece, 
'The  Foes  of  Mankind':  have  run  it  on  to  three 
hundred  and  fifty  lines,  and  given  it  a  still  more  odd 
name,  '  An  Epistle  from  the  Devil.'  To-morrow  I  hope 
to  transcribe  it  fair,  and  send  it  by  Monday." 

"  Mr.  Dodsley's  reply  just  received  :  '  Mr.  Dodsley 
presents  his  compliments  to  the  gentleman  who 
favoured  him  with  the  enclosed  poem,  which  he  has 


20  CRABBE  [chap. 

returned,  as  he  apprehends  the  sale  of  it  would  pro- 
bably not  enable  him  to  give  any  consideration.  He 
does  not  mean  to  insinuate  a  want  of  merit  in  the 
poem,  but  rather  a  want  of  attention  in  the  public'  " 

All  this  was  sufficiently  discouraging,  and  the  next 
day's  record  is  one  of  even  worse  omen.  The  poet 
thanks  Heaven  that  his  spirits  are  not  affected  by  Mr. 
Dodsley's  refusal,  and  that  he  is  already  preparing 
another  poem  for  another  bookseller,  Mr.  Becket. 
He  adds,  however  :  "  I  find  myself  under  the  disagree- 
able necessity  of  vending  or  pawning  some  of  my  more 
useless  articles :  accordingly  have  put  into  a  paper 
such  as  cost  about  two  or  three  guineas,  and,  being 
silver,  have  not  greatly  lessened  in  their  value.  The 
conscientious  pawnbroker  allowed  me — '  he  thought 
he  might' — half  a  guinea  for  them.  I  took  it  very 
readily,  being  determined  to  call  for  them  very  soon, 
and  then,  if  I  afterwards  wanted,  carry  them  to  some 
less  voracious  animal  of  the  kind." 

The  entries  during  the  next  six  weeks  continue  of 
the  same  tenor.  Mr.  Beckot,  for  whose  approval  were 
sent  "Poetical  Epistles,  with  a  preface  by  the  learned 
Martinus  Scriblerus"  (he  was  still  harping  on  the 
string  of  the  Augustans),  proved  no  more  responsive 
than  Dodsley.  "'Twas  a  very  pretty  thing,  but,  sir, 
these  little  pieces  the  town  do  not  regard."  By 
May  16th  he  had  "  sold  his  wardrobe,  pawned  his  watch, 
was  in  debt  to  his  landlord,  and  finally  at  some  loss 
how  to  eat  a  week  longer."  Two  days  later  he  had 
pawned  his  surgical  instruments — redeemed  and  re- 
pawned his  watch  on  more  favourable  terms— and  was 
rejoiced  to  find  himself  still  the  possessor  of  ten 
shillings.  He  remained  stout  of  heart — his  faith  in 
Providence  still  his  strong  comfort — and  the  Vickery 


II.]  POVERTY  IN  LONDON  21 

family,  though  he  must  have  beeu  constantly  in  their 
debt,  were  unfailingly  kind  and  hospitable.  He  was  also 
appealing  to  the  possible  patrons  of  literature  among 
the  leading  statesmen  of  the  hour.  On  May  21  we 
learn  that  he  was  preparing  "a  l)Ook  "  (which  of  his 
many  ventures  of  the  hour,  is  uncertain),  and  with  it  a 
letter  for  the  Prime  Minister,  Lord  North,  whose 
relative,  Dudley  North,  had  started  him  on  his  journey 
to  London.  When,  after  a  fortnight's  suspense,  this 
request  for  assistance  had  been  refused,  he  writes  yet 
more  urgently  to  Lord  Shelburne  (at  that  time  out  of 
office)  complaining  bitterly  of  North's  hardness  of  heart, 
and  appealing  on  this  occasion  to  his  hoped-for  patron 
both  in  prose  and  verse — 

"  Ah  !  Shelburne,  blest  with  all  that 's  good  or  great, 
T'  adorn  a  rich  or  save  a  sinking  state. 
If  public  Ills  engross  not  all  thy  care, 
Let  private  Woe  assail  a  patriot's  ear, 
Pity  confined,  but  not  less  warm,  impart, 
And  unresisted  win  thy  noble  heart" — 

with  much  more  in  the  same  vein  of  innocent 
flattery.  But  once  again  Cralibe  was  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. He  had  already,  it  would  seem,  appealed 
to  Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow,  with  no  better  success. 
Crabbe  felt  these  successive  repulses  very  keenly, 
but  it  is  not  necessary  to  tax  North,  Shelburne,  and 
Thurlow  with  exceptional  hardness  of  heart.  London 
was  as  full  of  needy  literary  adventurers  as  it  had  been 
in  the  days  of  The  Dunciad,  and  men  holding  the  posi- 
tion of  these  ministers  and  ex-ministers  were  probably 
receiving  similar  applications  every  week  of  their  lives. 
During  three  days  in  June,  Crabbe's  attention  is 
diverted  from  his  own  distresses  l)y  the  Lord  George 
Gordon  Kiots,    of   which  his  journal  from  June  8th 


22  CRABBE  [chap. 

contains  some  interesting  particulars.  He  was  himself 
an  eye-Avitness  of  some  of  the  most  disgraceful  ex- 
cesses of  the  mob,  the  burning  of  the  governor  of 
Newgate's  house,  and  the  setting  at  liberty  of  the 
prisoners.  He  also  saw  Lord  George  himself,  "  a  lively- 
looking  young  man  in  appearance,"  drawn  in  his  coach 
by  the  mob  towards  the  residence  of  Alderman  Bull, 
"  bowing  as  he  passed  along." 

At  this  point  the  diary  ends,  or  in  any  case  the 
concluding  portion  was  never  seen  by  the  poet's  son. 
And  yet  at  the  date  when  it  closed,  Crabbe  was  nearer 
to  at  least  the  semblance  of  a  success  than  he  had 
yet  approached.  He  had  at  length  found  a  publisher 
willing  to  print,  and  apparently  at  his  own  rislc,  "  The 
Candidate — a  Poetical  Epistle  to  the  Authors  of  the 
Monthly  Review,'"  that  journal  being  the  chief  organ 
of  literary  criticism  at  the  time.  The  idea  of  this 
attempt  to  propitiate  the  critics  in  advance,  with  a 
view  to  other  poetic  efibrts  in  the  future,  was  not 
felicitous.  The  publisher,  "  H.  Payne,  opposite  Marl- 
borough House,  Pall  Mall,"  had  pledged  himself  that 
the  author  should  receive  some  share  of  the  profits, 
however  small ;  but  even  if  he  had  not  become  1  lank- 
rupt  immediately  after  its  publication,  it  is  unlikely 
that  Crabbe  would  have  profited  by  a  single  penny. 
It  was  indeed  a  very  ill-advised  attempt,  even  as 
regards  the  reviewers  addressed.  The  very  tone 
adopted,  that  of  deprecation  of  criticism,  would  be 
in  their  view  a  proof  of  weakness,  and  as  such  they 
accepted  it.  Nor  had  the  poem  any  better  chance 
with  the  general  reader.  Its  rhetoric  and  versifica- 
tion were  only  one  more  of  the  interminable  echoes 
of  the  manner  of   Pope.      It    had  no  organic  unity. 


u,]  POVERTY  IN  LONDON  23 

The  wearisome  note  oi  plea  for  inclulgenco  hud  to  be 
relieved  at  intervals  by  such  irrelevant  episodes  as 
compliments  to  the  absent  "  Mira,"  and  to  Wolfe,  who 
"  conquered  as  he  fell  "—twenty  years  or  so  l)efore. 
The  critics  of  the  Monlhlij  llevicw,  far  from  being 
mollified  by  the  poet's  appeal,  received  the  poem  with 
the  cruel  but  perfectly  just  remark  that  it  had  "that 
material  defect,  the  want  of  a  proper  subject." 

An  allegorical  episode  may  be  cited  as  a  sample  of 
the  general  style  of  this  cfTusion.  The  poet  relates 
how  the  Genius  of  Poetry  (like,  but  how  unlike, 
her  who  was  seen  by  Burns  in  vision)  appeared  to 
him  with  counsel  how  best  to  hit  the  taste  of  the 
town : — 

"  Be  not  too  eager  in  the  arduons  chase  ; 
Who  pants  for  trhunjih  seldom  wins  the  race  : 
Venture  not  all,  but  wisely  hoard  thy  Avorth, 
And  let  thy  hdjours  one  by  one  go  forth  : 
Some  happier  scrap  capricious  wits  may  iind 
On  a  fair  day,  and  be  profusely  kind  ; 
Which,  buried  in  the  rubbish  of  a  thi'ong, 
Had  pleased  as  little  as  a  new-year's  song. 
Or  lovei''s  verse,  that  cloyed  with  nauseous  sweet, 
Or  birthday  ode,  that  ran  on  ill-paired  feet. 
Merit  not  always — Fortune  feeds  the  bard, 
And  as  the  whim  inclines  bestows  reward  : 
None  without  wit,  nor  with  it  numbers  gain  ; 
To  please  is  hard,  but  none  shall  please  in  A-ain  ; 
As  a  coy  mistress  is  the  humoured  town, 
Loth  every  lover  with  success  to  crown  ; 
He  who  would  win  must  every  effort  try. 
Sail  in  the  mode,  and  to  the  fashion  fly  ; 
Must  gay  or  grave  to  every  humour  dress, 
And  watch  the  lucky  ISIoment  of  Success  ; 
That  caught,  no  more  his  eager  hopes  are  crost ; 
But  vain  are  Wit  and  Love,  when  that  is  lost." 


24  CRABBE  [cuap. 

Crabbe's  son  and  l)iographer  remarks  with  justice 
that  the  time  of  his  father's  arrival  in  London  was 
"not  unfavourable  for  a  new  Candidate  in  Poetry. 
The  giants,  Swift  and  Poj)e,  had  passed  away,  leaving 
each  in  his  department  examples  never  to  be  excelled ; 
but  the  style  of  each  had  been  so  long  imitated  by 
inferior  persons  that  the  world  was  not  unlikely  to 
welcome  some  one  who  should  strike  into  a  newer  path. 
The  strong  and  powerful  satirist  Churchill,  the  classic 
Gra}'^,  and  the  inimitable  Goldsmith  had  also  departed ; 
and  more  recently  still,  Chatterton  had  paid  the  bitter 
penalty  of  his  imprudence  under  circumstances  which 
must  surely  have  rather  disposed  the  patrons  of  talent 
to  watch  the  next  opportunity  that  might  offer  itself 
of  encouraging  genius  'by  poverty  depressed.'  The 
stupendous  Johnson,  unrivalled  in  general  literature, 
had  from  an  early  period  withdrawn  himself  from 
poetry.  Cowper,  destined  to  fill  so  large  a  space  in 
the  pu])lic  eye  somewhat  later,  had  not  as  yet  appeared 
as  an  author ;  and  as  for  Burns,  he  was  still  unknown 
beyond  the  obscure  circle  of  his  fellow-villagers." 

All  this  is  quite  true,  but  it  was  not  for  such  facile 
cleverness  as  The  Candidate  that  the  lovers  of  poetry 
were  impatient.  Up  to  this  point  Crabbe  shows  him- 
self wholly  unsuspicious  of  this  fact.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  him  that  it  was  possible  for  him  safely  to 
trust  his  own  instincts.  And  yet  there  is  a  stray 
entry  in  his  diary  which  seems  to  show  how  (in 
obedience  to  his  visionary  instructor)  he  was  trying 
experiments  in  more  hopeful  directions.  On  the 
twelfth  of  May  he  intimates  to  his  Mira  that  he  has 
dreams  of  success  in  something  different,  something 
more    human   than    had    yet   engaged    his    thoughts. 


II.]  POVKR'l'V  IN  LONDON  25 

"Fur  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  T  recollect,"  he 
writes,  "  I  have  written  three  or  four  staii/.as  that  so 
far  touched  me  in  the  reading  them  as  to  take  oil'  the 
the  consideration  that  they  were  things  of  my  own 
fancy."  Thus  far  there  was  nothing  in  what  he  had 
printed  —  in  Inehrieiy  or  The  Candidate — that  could 
possibly  have  touched  his  heart  or  that  of  his  readers. 
And  it  ma}'^  well  have  been  that  he  was  now  turning 
for  fresh  themes  to  those  real  sorrows,  those  genuine, 
if  homely,  human  interests  of  which  he  had  already 
so  intimate  an  experience. 

However  that  may  have  been,  the  combined  cold- 
ness of  his  reviewers  and  failure  of  his  bookseller  must 
have  brought  Crabbe  within  as  near  an  approach  to 
despair  as  his  healthy  nature  allowed.  His  distress 
was  now  extreme ;  he  was  incurring  debts  with  little 
hope  of  payi)ig  them,  and  creditors  were  pressing. 
Forty  years  later  he  told  Walter  Scott  and  Loekhart 
how  "during  many  months  when  he  was  toiling  in 
early  life  in  London  he  hardly  ever  tasted  butcher- 
meat  except  on  a  Sunday,  when  he  dined  usually  with 
a  tradesman's  family,  and  thought  their  leg  of  mutton, 
baked  in  the  pan,  the  perfection  of  luxury."  And  it 
was  only  after  some  more  weary  months,  when  at  last 
"want  stared  him  in  the  face,  and  a  gaol  seemed 
the  only  immediate  refuge  for  his  head,"  that  he 
resolved,  as  a  last  resort,  to  lay  his  case  once  more 
before  some  public  man  of  eminence  and  character. 
"Impelled"  (to  use  his  own  Avords)  "by  some  pro- 
pitious influence,  he  fixed  in  some  happy  moment 
upon  Edmund  Burke — one  of  the  first  of  Englishmen, 
and  in  the  capacity  and  energy  of  his  mind,  one  of 
the  greatest  of  human  beings." 


26  CRABBE  [chai\ 

It  was  in  one  of  the  early  months  of  1781  (the 
exact  date  seems  to  be  undiscoverablc)  that  Crabbe 
addressed  his  letter,  with  specimens  of  his  poetry,  to 
Burke  at  his  London  residence.  The  letter  has  been 
preserved,  and  runs  as  follows : — 

"Sir, — I  am  sensible  that  I  need  even  your  talents  to 
apologise  for  the  freedom  I  now  take  ;  but  I  have  a  plea 
which,  however  simply  urged,  will,  with  a  mind  like  yours, 
sir,  procure  me  pardon.  I  am  one  of  those  outcasts  on  the 
world  who  are  without  a  friend,  vithout  employment,  and 
without  bread. 

"Pardon  me  a  short  preface.  I  had  a  partial  father  who 
gave  me  a  better  education  than  his  broken  fortune  would 
have  allowed  ;  and  a  better  than  was  necessary,  as  he  could 
give  me  that  only.  I  was  designed  for  the  profession  of 
physic,  but  not  having  wherewithal  to  complete  the  requisite 
studies,  the  design  but  served  to  convince  me  of  a  parent's 
affection,  and  the  error  it  had  occasioned.  In  April  last  I 
came  to  London  with  three  pounds,  and  flattered  myself  this 
would  be  sufficient  to  supply  me  with  the  common  necessaries 
of  life  till  my  abilities  should  procure  me  more  ;  of  these  I 
had  the  highest  opinion,  and  a  poetical  vanity  contributed  to 
my  delusion.  I  knew  little  of  the  world,  and  had  read  books 
only  :  I  wrote,  and  fancied  perfection  in  my  compositions  ; 
when  I  wanted  bread  they  promised  me  affluence,  and  soothed 
me  with  dreams  of  reputation,  whilst  my  appearance  subjected 
me  to  contempt. 

"Time,  reflection,  and  want  have  shown  me  my  mistake. 
I  see  my  trifles  in  that  which  I  think  the  true  light ;  and 
whilst  I  deem  them  such,  have  yet  the  opinion  that  holds 
them  superior  to  the  common  run  of  poetical  publications. 

"  I  had  some  knowledge  of  the  late  Mr.  Nassau,  the  brother 
of  Lord  Eochford  ;  in  consequence  of  which  I  asked  his  Lord- 
ship's permission  to  inscribe  my  little  work  to  him.  Knowing 
it  to  be  free  from  all  political  allusions  and  personal  abuse, 
it  was  no  very  material  point  to  me  to  whom  it  was  dedicated. 
His  Lordship  thought  it  none  to  him,  and  obligingly  con- 
sented to  my  request. 


II.  J  POVERTY  IN  LONDON  27 

"  I  was  told  that  a  subscription  would  be  the  more  profit- 
able method  for  me,  and,  therefore,  endoavoui-cd  to  circulate 
copies  of  the  enclosed  Proposals. 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,  I  disyust  you  with  this  very  dull  narra- 
tion, but  believe  nie  punished  in  the  misery  that  occasions  it. 
You  will  conclude  that  during  this  time  1  must  have  been  at 
more  expense  than  I  could  afford  :  indeed  the  most  parsi- 
monious could  net  have  avoided  it.  The  printer  deceived 
me,  and  my  little  business  has  had  every  delay.  The  people 
with  whom  I  live  perceive  my  situation,  and  find  me  to  be 
indigent  and  without  friends.  About  ten  days  since  I  was 
compelled  to  give  a  note  for  seven  pounds,  to  avoid  an  arrest 
for  about  douljle  that  sum  which  I  owe.  I  wrote  to  every 
friend  I  had,  but  my  friends  are  poor  likewise  :  the  time  of 
payment  approached,  and  I  ventured  to  represent  my  case 
to  Lord  Eochford.  I  begged  to  be  credited  for  this  sum  till 
I  received  it  of  my  subscribers,  which  I  believe  will  be  within 
one  month  :  but  to  this  letter  I  had  no  reply,  and  I  have 
probably  offended  by  my  importunity.  Having  used  every 
honest  means  in  vain,  I  yesterday  confessed  my  inability,  and 
obtained  with  much  entreaty  and  as  the  greatest  favour  a 
week's  forbearance,  when  I  am  positively  told  that  I  must 
pay  the  money  or  prepare  for  a  prison. 

"  You  will  guess  the  purpose  of  so  long  an  introduction.  I 
appeal  to  you,  sir,  as  a  good  and,  let  me  add,  a  great  man. 
I  have  no  other  pretensions  to  your  favour  than  that  I  am 
an  unhappy  one.  It  is  not  easy  to  support  the  thoughts  of 
confinement ;  and  I  am  coward  enough  to  dread  such  an  end 
to  my  suspense.  Can  you,  sir,  in  any  degree  aid  me  with 
propriety  ?  Will  you  ask  any  demonstrations  of  my  veracity  ? 
I  have  imposed  upon  myself,  but  I  have  been  guilty  of  no 
other  imposition.  Let  me,  if  possible,  interest  your  com- 
passion. I  know  those  of  rank  and  fortune  are  teased  with 
frequent  petitions,  and  are  compelled  to  refuse  the  requests 
even  of  those  whom  they  know  to  be  in  distress  :  it  is,  there- 
fore, with  a  distant  hope  I  ventured  to  solicit  such  favour  : 
but  you  will  forgive  me,  sir,  if  you  do  not  think  proper 
to  relieve.  It  is  impossible  that  sentiments  like  yours  can 
proceed  from  any  but  a  humane  and  generous  heart. 


28  CRABBE  [chap. 

"  I  will  call  upon  yon,  sir,  to-morrow,  and  if  I  have  not  the 
happiness  to  obtain  credit  with  you,  1  must  submit  to  my  fate. 
My  existence  is  a  pain  to  myself,  and  every  one  near  and  dear 
to  me  are  distressed  in  my  distresses.  My  connections,  once 
the  source  of  happiness,  now  embitter  the  reverse  of  my 
fortune,  and  I  have  only  to  hope  a  speedy  end  to  a  life  so 
unprouiisingly  begun  :  in  which  (though  it  ought  not  to  be 
boasted  of)  I  can  reap  some  consolation  from  looking  to  the  end 
of  it.  I  am,  sir,  with  the  greatest  respect,  your  obedient 
and  most  humble  servant,  George  Crabbe." 

The  letter  is  undated,  but,  as  we  shall  see, 
must  have  been  written  in  February  or  March  of 
1781.  Crabbe  delivered  it  with  his  own  hands  at 
Burke's  house  in  Charles  Street,  St.  James's,  and 
(as  he  long  after  told  Walter  Scott)  paced  up  and 
down  Westminster  Bridge  all  night  in  an  agony  of 
suspense. 

This  suspense  was  not  of  long  duration.  Crabbe 
made  his  threatened  call,  and  anxiety  was  speedily  at 
an  end.  He  had  sent  with  his  letter  specimens  of  his 
verse  still  in  manuscript.  Whether  Burke*  had  had 
time  to  do  more  than  glance  at  them — for  they  had 
been  in  his  hands  but  a  few  hours — is  uncertain.  But 
it  may  well  have  been  that  the  tone  as  well  as  the 
substance  of  Crabbe's  letter  struck  the  great  states- 
man as  something  apart  from  the  usual  strain  of  the 
literaiy  pretender.  During  Burke's  first  years  in 
London,  when  he  himself  lived  by  literature  and  saw 
much  of  the  lives  and  ways  of  poets  and  pamphleteers, 
he  must  have  gained  some  experience  that  served  him 
later  in  good  stead.  There  was  a  flavour  of  truthful- 
ness in  Crabbe's  story  that  could  hardly  be  delusive, 
and  a  strain  of  modesty  blended  with  courage  that 
would   at   once   appeal   to    Burke's   generous   nature. 


11.]  POVERTY  IN  LONDON  29 

Again,  Burke  was  not  a  poet  (save  in  the  glowing 
periods  of  his  prose),  but  he  had  read  widely  in  the 
poets,  and  had  himself  heen  possessed  at  one  stage 
of  his  youth  "  with  the  furor  2>oeHcus."  At  this  special 
juncture  he  had  indeed  little  leisure  for  such  matters. 
He  had  lost  his  scat  for  Bristol  in  the  preceding  year, 
but  had  speedily  found  another  at  Malton — a  pocket- 
borough  of  Lord  Rockingham's, — and,  at  the  moment 
of  Cnil)be's  appeal,  was  again  actively  opposing  the 
policy  of  the  King  and  Lord  North.  But  he  yet 
found  time  for  an  act  of  kindness  that  was  to  have 
no  inconsiderable  iniluence  on  English  literature. 
The  result  of  the  interview  Avas  that  Crabbe's  imme- 
diate necessities  were  relieved  by  a  gift  of  money, 
and  by  the  assurance  that  Burke  would  do  all  in 
his  power  to  further  Cral)be's  literary  aims.  What 
particular  poems  or  fragments  of  poetry  had  been 
first  sent  to  Burke  is  uncertain ;  but  among  those 
submitted  to  his  judgment  were  specimens  of  the 
poems  to  be  henceforth  known  as  the  The  Library 
and  llie  Village.  Crabbe  afterwards  learned  that  the 
lines  which  first  convinced  Burke  that  a  new  and 
genuine  poet  had  arisen  were  the  following  from  The 
tillage,  in  which  the  author  told  of  his  resolution 
to  leave  the  home  of  his  birth  and  try  his  fortune  in 
the  city  of  wits  and  scholars — 

"  As  on  their  neighbouring  beach  yon  swallows  stand 
And  wait  for  favouring  winds  to  leave  the  land  ; 
While  still  for  flight  the  ready  wing  is  spread  : 
So  waited  I  the  favouring  hour,  and  fled  ; 
Fled  from  these  shores  where  guilt  and  famine  reign. 
And  cried,  '  ^  h  !  hapless  they  who  still  remain — 
Who  still  remain  to  hear  the  ocean  roar, 
Whose  greedy  waves  devour  the  lessening  shore  ; 


30  CRABBE  [chap. 

Till  some  fierce  tide,  with  more  imperious  sway, 
Sweeps  the  low  hut  and  all  it  holds  away  ; 
When  the  sad  tenant  weeps  from  door  to  door, 
And  begs  a  poor  protection  from  the  poor  ! " 

Burke  might  well  have  been  impressed  by  such  a 
passage.  In  some  other  specimens  of  Crabbe's  verse, 
submitted  at  the  same  time  to  his  judgment,  the  note 
of  a  very  different  school  was  dominant.  But  here  for 
the  moment  appears  a  fresher  key  and  a  later  model. 
In  the  lines  just  quoted  the  feeling  and  the  cadence  of 
The  Traveller  and  The  Di'sntcd  Village  are  unmistakable. 
But  if  they  suggest  comparison  with  the  exquisite 
passage  in  the  latter  beginning — 

"  And  as  the  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  which  at  first  she  flew," 

they  also  suggest  a  contrast.  Burke's  experienced  eye 
would  detect  that  if  there  was  something  in  Crabbe's 
more  Pope-like  couplets  that  was  not  found  in  Pope, 
so  there  was  something  here  more  poignant  than  even 
in  Goldsmith. 

Crabbe's  son  reflected  with  just  pride  that  there 
must  have  been  something  in  his  father's  manners  and 
bearing  that  at  the  outset  invited  Burke's  confidence 
and  made  intimacy  at  once  possible,  although  Crabbe's 
previous  associates  had  been  so  different  from  the 
educated  gentry  of  London.  In  telling  of  his  new- 
found poet  a  few  days  afterwards  to  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  Burke  said  that  he  had  "the  mind  and  feel- 
ings of  a  gentleman."  And  he  acted  boldly  on  this 
assurance  by  at  once  placing  Crabbe  on  the  footing  of  a 
friend,  and  admitting  him  to  liis  family  circle.  "He 
was  invited  to  Beaconsfield,"  Crabbe  wrote  in  his  short 


II.]  POVERTY  IN  LONDON  31 

autobiographical  sketch,  "  the  seat  of  his  protector, 
and  was  there  placed  in  a  convenient  apartment, 
supplied  with  books  for  his  information  and  amuse- 
ment, and  made  a  member  of  a  family  whom  it  was 
honour  as  well  as  pleasure  to  become  in  any  degree 
associated  with."  The  time  thus  spent  was  profitable 
to  Crabbe  in  other  ways  than  by  enlarging  his  know- 
ledge and  ideas,  and  laying  the  foundation  of  many 
valued  friendships.  He  devoted  himself  in  earnest  to 
complete  his  unfinished  poems  and  revise  others 
under  Burke's  judicious  criticism.  The  poem  he  first 
published.  The  Library,  he  himself  tells  us,  was  written 
partly  in  his  presence  and  submitted  as  a  whole  to  his 
judgment.  Crabbe  elsewhere  indicates  clearly  what 
were  the  weak  points  of  his  art,  and  what  tendencies 
Burke  found  it  most  necessary  he  should  counter- 
act. Writing  his  reminiscences  in  the  third  person 
years  later,  he  naively  admitted  that  "  ^Ir.  Crabbe  had 
sometimes  the  satisfaction  of  hearing,  when  the  verses 
were  bad,  that  the  thoughts  deserved  better ;  and  that 
if  he  had  the  common  faults  of  inexperienced  writers, 
he  had  frequently  the  merit  of  thinking  for  himself." 
The  first  clause  of  this  sentence  might  be  applied  to 
Crabbe's  poetry  to  the  very  end  of  his  days.  Of  his 
later  and  far  maturer  poems,  when  he  had  ceased  to 
polish,  it  is  too  true  that  the  thoughts  are  often  better 
than  their  treatment.  His  latest  publisher,  John 
Murray,  used  to  say  that  in  conversation  Crabbe  often 
"said  uncommon  things  in  so  common  a  way"  that 
they  passed  unnoticed.  The  remark  applies  equally 
to  much  of  Crabbe's  poetry.  But  at  least,  if  this 
incongruity  is  to  exist,  it  is  on  the  more  hopeful  side. 
The  characteristic  of  so  much  poetry  of  our  own  day 


32  CRABBE  [chap. 

is  that  the  manner  is  uncommon,  and  the  commonness 
resides  in  the  matter. 

When  Crabbe  had  completed  his  revisions  to  his 
own  satisfaction  and  his  adviser's,  Burke  suggested  the 
publication  of  The  Lih-ary  and  The  Village,  and  the 
former  poem  was  laid  before  Mr.  Dodsley,  who  only  a 
few  months  before  had  refused  a  poem  from  the  same 
hand.  But  circumstances  were  now  changed,  and 
Burke's  recommendation  and  support  were  all-sufficient. 
Dodsley  was  all  politeness,  and  though  he  declined  to 
incur  any  risk — this  was  doubtless  borne  by  Burke — 
he  promised  his  best  endeavours  to  make  the  poem  a 
success.  The  Lihrarij  was  published,  anonymously,  in 
June  1781.  The  Monthly  and  the  Cntical  Reviews 
awarded  it  a  certain  amount  of  faint  praise,  but  the 
success  with  the  general  public  seems  only  to  have 
been  slight. 

AVhen  Burke  selected  this  poem  to  lay  before 
Dodsley,  he  had  already  read  portions  of  The  Village, 
and  it  seems  strange  that  he  should  have  given  The 
Library  precedence,  for  the  other  was  in  every  respect 
the  more  remarkable.  But  Burke,  a  conservative  in 
this  as  in  other  matters,  probably  thought  that  a  new 
poet  desiring  to  be  heard  would  be  wiser  in  not  at  once 
quitting  the  old  paths.  The  readers  of  poetry  still 
had  a  taste  for  didactic  epigram  varied  by  a  certain 
amount  of  florid  rhetoric.  And  there  was  little 
beyond  this  in  Crabbe's  moralisings  on  the  respec- 
tive functions  of  theology,  history,  poetry,  and  the 
rest,  as  represented  on  the  shelves  of  a  library,  and  on 
the  blessings  of  literature  to  the  heart  when  wearied 
with  business  and  the  cares  of  life.  Crabbe's  verses 
on  such  topics  are  by  no  means  ineffective.     He  had 


II.]  rOVKRTV  IN  LONDON  33 

caught  perfectly  the  trick  of  the  school  so  soon  to  pass 
away.  He  is  as  fluent  and  copious — as  skilful  in 
spreading  a  truism  over  a  dozen  well-sounding  lines — 
as  any  of  his  predecessors.  There  is  little  new  in  the 
way  of  ideas.  Crabbe  had  as  yet  no  wide  insight  into 
books  and  authors,  and  he  was  forced  to  deal  largely 
in  generalities.  But  he  showed  that  he  had  already 
some  idea  of  style ;  and  if,  when  he  had  so  little  to  say, 
he  could  say  it  with  so  much  semblance  of  power,  it 
was  certain  that  when  he  had  observed  and  thought  for 
himself  he  would  go  further  and  make  a  deeper  mark. 
The  heroic  couplet  controlled  him  to  the  end  of  his 
life,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  not  merely 
timidity  that  made  him  confine  himself  to  the  old 
beaten  track.  Crabbe's  thoughts  ran  very  much  in 
antithesis,  and  the  couplet  suited  this  tendency.  But 
it  had  its  serious  limitations.  Southey's  touching 
stanzas — 

"  My  days  aiiKJii.u'  llic  dead  are  passed," 

though  the  ideas  embodied  are  no  more  novel  than 
Cralibe's,  are  worth  scores  of  such  lines  as  these — 

"  With  awe,  around  these  silent  walks  I  tread  ; 
These  are  the  lasting  mansions  of  the  dead  : 
'  The  dead  ! '  methinks  a  thousand  tongues  reply  ; 
'  These  are  the  tombs  of  such  as  cannot  die  ! 
Crowned  with  eternal  faine,  they  sit  sublime, 
And  lau-'h  at  all  the  little  strife  of  Tune.' " 


CPIAPTER   III 

FRIENDSHIP   WITH   BURKE 

(1781-1783) 

Thus  far  I  have  followed  the  guidance  of  Crabbe's  son 
and  biographer,  but  there  is  much  that  is  confused 
and  incomplete  in  his  narrative.  The  story  of  Crabbe's 
life,  as  told  by  the  son,  leaves  us  in  much  doubt  as  to 
the  order  of  events  in  1780-1781.  The  memorable 
letter  to  Burke  was,  as  we  have  seen,  without  a  date. 
The  omission  is  not  strange,  for  the  letter  was  written 
by  Crabbe  in  great  anguish  of  mind,  and  was  left  by 
his  own  hand  at  Burke's  door.  The  son,  though  he 
e\ddently  obtained  from  his  father  most  of  the  infor- 
mation he  was  afterwards  to  use,  never  extracted  this 
date  from  him.  He  tells  us  that  up  to  the  time  of  his 
undertaking  the  Biography,  he  did  not  even  know 
that  the  original  of  the  letter  was  in  existence.  He 
also  tells  us  that  until  he  and  his  brother  saw  the 
letter  they  had  little  idea  of  the  extreme  poverty  and 
anxiety  which  their  father  had  experienced  during  his 
time  in  London.  Obviously  Crabbe  himself  had  been 
reticent  on  the  subject  even  with  his  own  family. 
From  the  midsummer  of  1780,  when  the  "Journal  to 
Mira "  comes  to  an  end,  to  the  February  or  March  of 
the  following  year,  there  is  a  blank  in  the  Biography 


CHAP,  in.]         FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  35 

which  the  son  was  unable  to  fill.  At  the  time  the 
fragment  of  Diary  closes,  Crabbe  was  apparently  at 
the  very  end  of  his  resources.  He  had  pawned  all  his 
personal  property,  his  books  and  his  surgical  imple- 
ments, and  was  still  in  dc})t.  He  had  begged  assistance 
from  many  of  the  loading  statesmen  of  the  hour 
without  success,  llow  did  he  contrive  to  exist  between 
June  1780  and  the  early  months  of  1781  1 

The  problem  might  never  have  been  solved  for  us 
had  it  not  been  for  the  accidental  publication,  four 
years  after  the  Biography  appeared,  of  a  second  letter 
from  Crabbe  to  Burke.  In  1838,  Sir  Henry  Bunbury, 
in  an  appendix  to  the  Memoir  and  Coneapondenre 
of  Sir  Thomas  Hanmrr  (Speaker  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  Shakspearian  editor),  printed  a  collec- 
tion of  miscellaneous  letters  from  distinguished  men 
in  the  possession  of  the  Bunbury  family.  Among 
these  is  a  letter  of  Crabbe  to  Burke,  undated  save  as 
to  the  month,  which  is  given  as  June  2Gth.  The 
year,  however,  is  obviously  1781,  for  the  letter  con- 
sists of  further  details  of  Crabbe's  early  life,  not 
supplied  in  the  earlier  etiusion.  At  the  date  of  this 
second  letter,  Crabbe  had  been  known  to  Burke  three 
or  four  months.  During  that  time  Crabbe  had  been 
constantly  seeing  Burke,  and  with  his  help  had  been 
revising  for  the  press  the  poem  of  The  Library,  which 
was  published  l)y  Dodsley  in  this  very  month,  June 
1781.  The  first  impression,  accordin^dy,  produced  on 
us  by  the  letter,  is  one  of  surprise  that  after  so  long  a 
period  of  intimate  association  with  Burke,  Crabbe 
should  still  be  writing  in  a  tone  of  profound  anxiety 
and  discouragement  as  to  his  future  prospects. 
According  to  the  son's  account  of  the  situation,  ^\  hen 


36  CRABBE  [chap. 

Crabbe  left  Burke's  house  after  their  first  meeting, 
*'  he  was,  in  the  common  phrase,  '  a  made  man ' — from 
that  hour."  That  short  interview  "  entirely,  and  for 
ever,  changed  the  nature  of  his  worldly  fortunes." 
This,  in  a  sense,  was  undoubtedly  true,  though  not 
perhaps  as  the  writer  meant.  It  is  clear  from  the 
letter  first  printed  by  Sir  Henry  Bunbury,  that  up  to 
the  end  of  June  1781,  Crabbe's  future  occupation  in 
life  was  still  unfixed,  and  that  he  was  full  of  mis- 
givings as  to  the  means  of  earning  a  livelihood. 

The  letter  is  of  great  interest  in  many  respects,  but 
is  too  long  to  print  as  a  whole  in  the  text.^  It  throws 
light  upon  the  blank  space  in  Crabbe's  history  just 
now  referred  to.  It  tells  the  story  of  a  period  of 
humiliation  and  distress,  concerning  which  it  is  easy 
to  understand  that  even  in  the  days  of  his  fame  and 
prosperity  Crabbe  may  well  have  refrained  from 
speaking  with  his  children.  After  relating  in  full  his 
early  struggles  as  an  imperfectl}''  qualified  country 
doctor,  and  his  subsequent  fortunes  in  London  up  to 
the  day  of  his  appeal  to  Burke,  Crabbe  proceeds — 
"It  will  perhaps  be  asked  how  I  could  live  near  twelve 
months  a  stranger  in  London ;  and  coming  without 
money,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  I  was  immediately 
credited.  It  is  not;  my  support  arose  from  another 
source.  In  the  very  early  part  of  my  life  I  contracted 
some  acquaintance,  which  afterwards  became  a  serious 

*  I  cannot  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  here  acknowledging  my 
indebtedness  to  a  French  scholar,  M.  Huchon  of  the  University 
of  Nancy.  M.  Huchon  is  himself  engaged  upon  a  study  of  the 
Life  and  Poetry  of  Crabbe,  and  in  the  course  of  a  conversation 
with  me  in  London,  first  called  my  attention  to  the  volume 
containing  this  letter.  I  agree  with  him  in  thinking  that  no 
previous  biographer  of  Crabbe  has  been  aware  of  its  existence. 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  37 

connection,  with  the  niece  of  a  Suffolk  gentleman  of 
large  fortune.      Her    mother    lives    witli    her    three 
daughters    at    Beccles ;    her    income   is   but    the    in 
terest    of    fifteen    hundi'cd    pounds,    which     at    her 
decease  is  to  be  divided  betwixt  her  children.     The 
brother  makes  her   annual   income   about  a  hundred 
pounds;     ho    is     a     rigid     economist,    and    though 
I    have    the    pleasure    of    his    approbation,    I    have 
not  the  good  fortune  to  obtain    more,   nor    from    a 
prudent  man  could  I  perhaps  expect  so  much.     But 
from  the  family  at  Beccles  I  have  every  mark  of  their 
attention,  and  every  proof  of  their  disinterested  regard. 
They  have  from  time  to  time  supplied  me  with  such 
sums  as  they  could  possibly  spare,  and  that  they  have 
not  done  more  arose  from  my  concealing  the  severity 
of  my  situation,  for  I  would  not  involve  in  my  errors 
or  misfortunes  a  very  generous  and  very  happy  family 
by  which  I  am  received  with  unaffected  sincerity,  and 
where  I  am  treated  as  a  son  by  a  mother  who  can  have 
no  prudential  reason  to  rejoice  that  her  daughter  has 
formed  such  a  connection.     It  is  this  family  I  lately 
visited,  and  by  which  I  am  pressed  to  return,  for  they 
know  the  necessity  there  is  for  me  to  live  with  the 
utmost  frugality,   and  hopeless  of  my  succeeding  in 
town,  they  invite  me  to  partake  of  their  little  fortune, 
and  as  I  cannot  mend  my  prospects,  to  avoid  making 
them  worse."     The  letter  ends  with  an  earnest  appeal 
to  Burke  to  help  him   to  any  honest  occupation  that 
may   enable   him    to    live    without    being    a  V)urdeu 
on    the    slender    resources    of    Miss    Elmy's    family. 
Crabbe  is  full  of  gratitude  for  all  that  Burke  has  thus 
far  done  for  him .    He  has  helped  him  to  complete  and 
publish  his  poem,  but  Crabbe  is  evidently  aware  that 


38  CRABBE  [ohav. 

poetry  does  not  mean  a  livelihood,  and  that  his  future 
is  as  dark  as  over.  The  loiter  is  dated  from  Crabbe's 
old  lodging  with  the  Yickerys  in  Bishopsgato  Street, 
and  he  had  beei\  lately  staying  with  the  Elmys 
at  Eeocles.  He  was  not  therefore  as  yet  a  visitor 
under  Burke's  roof.  This  was  yet  to  come,  with  all 
the  happy  results  that  were  to  follow.  It  may  still 
seem  strange  that  all  these  details  remained  to  bo  told 
to  Burke  four  months  after  their  acquaintance  had 
begun.  An  explanation  of  this  may  be  found  in  the 
autobiographical  matter  that  Crabbe  late  in  life 
supplied  to  the  New  Monthly  Miujazinc  in  1816.  He 
there  intimates  that  after  Burke  had  generously 
assisted  him  in  other  ways,  besides  enabling  him  to 
publish  llie  Library^  the  question  had  been  discussed 
of  Crabbe's  future  calling.  "  Mr.  Crabbe  was  encour- 
aged to  lay  open  his  views,  past  and  present ;  to  dis- 
play whatever  reading  and  acquirements  he  possessed  ; 
to  explain  the  causes  of  his  disappointments,  and  the 
cloudiness  of  his  prospects;  in  short  he  concealed 
nothing  from  a  friend  so  able  to  guide  inexperience, 
and  so  willing  to  pardon  inadvertency."  Obviously  it 
was  in  answer  to  such  invitations  from  Burke  that  the 
letter  of  the  26th  of  June  1781  was  written. 

It  was  probably  soon  after  the  publication  of  The 
Library  that  Crabbe  paid  his  first  ^^sit  to  Beaconsfield, 
and  was  welcomed  as  a  guest  by  Burke's  wife  and  her 
niece  as  cordially  as  by  the  statesman  himself.  Here  he 
fii-st  met  Charles  James  Fox  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
and  through  the  latter  soon  became  acquainted  ^vith 
Samuel  Johnson,  on  whom  he  called  in  Bolt  Court. 
Later  in  the  year,  when  in  London,  Crabbe  had  lodg- 
ings hard  by  the  Buikes  in  St.  James's  Place,  and  con- 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  39 

timied  to  be  a  frequent  guest  at  their  table,  where  he 
met  other  of  Burke's  distinguished  friends,  political 
and  literary.  Among  these  was  Lord  Chancellor 
Thurlow  to  whom  Crablic  had  appealed,  without  suc- 
cess, in  his  less  fortunate  days.  On  that  occasion 
Thurlow  had  simply  replied,  in  regard  to  the  poems 
which  Crabbe  had  enclosed,  "that  his  avocations  did 
not  leave  him  leisure  to  read  verses."  To  this  Crabbe 
had  been  so  unwise  as  to  reply  that  it  was  one  of  a 
Lord  Chancellor's  functions  to  relieve  merit  in  distress. 
But  the  good-natured  Chancellor  had  not  resented  the 
impertinence,  and  now  hearing  afresh  from  Burke  of 
his  old  petitioner,  invited  Crabbe  to  breakfast,  and 
made  him  a  generous  apology.  "The  fii-st  poem  you 
sent  me,  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  ought  to  have  noticed, — and 
I  heartily  forgive  the  second."  At  parting,  Thurlow 
pressed  a  sealed  packet  containing  a  hundred  poiuids 
into  Crabbe's  hand,  and  assured  him  of  further  help 
when  Crabbe  should  have  taken  Holy  Orders. 

For  already,  as  the  result  of  Burke's  unceasing 
interest  in  his  new  friend,  Crabbe's  future  calling  had 
been  decided.  La  the  course  of  conversations  at 
Beaconsfield  Burke  had  discovered  that  his  tastes  and 
gifts  pointed  much  more  clearly  towards  divinity  than 
to  medicine.  His  special  training  for  the  office  of  a 
clergyman  was  of  course  deficient.  He  probably  had 
no  Greek,  but  he  had  mastered  enough  of  Latin  to  read 
and  quote  the  Latin  poets.  Moreover,  his  chief  passion 
from  early  youth  had  been  for  botany,  and  the  treatises 
on  that  subject  were,  in  Crabbe's  day,  written  in  the 
language  adopted  in  all  scientific  works.  "It  is  most 
fortunate,"  said  Burke,  "that  your  father  exerted 
himself  to  send  you  to  that  second  school  ]  without  a 


40  CRABBE  [chap. 

little  Latin  we  should  have  made  nothing  of  you  :  now, 
I  think  we  shall  succeed."  Moreover  Cral)bc  had  been 
a  wide  and  discursive  reader.  "  Mr.  Crahbc,"  Burke 
told  Reynolds,  "  appears  to  know  something  of  every 
thing."  As  to  his  more  serious  qualifications  for  the 
profession,  his  natural  piety,  as  shown  in  the  diaries 
kept  in  his  days  of  trial,  was  beyond  doubt.  He  was 
well  read  in  the  Scriptures,  and  the  example  of  a 
religious  and  much-tried  mother  had  not  been  without 
its  influence.  There  had  been  some  dissipations  of  his 
earlier  manhood,  as  his  son  admits,  to  repent  of  and  to 
put  away ;  but  the  growth  of  his  character  in  all  that 
was  excellent  was  unimpeachable,  and  Burke  was 
amply  justified  in  recommending  Crabbe  as  a  candidate 
for  orders  to  the  Bishop  of  Norwich.  He  was  ordained 
on  the  21st  of  December  1781  to  the  curacy  of  his 
native  town. 

On  arri^^ng  in  Aldeburgh  Crabbe  once  more  set  up 
housekeeping  with  a  sister,  as  he  had  done  in  his 
less  prosperous  days  as  parish  doctor.  Sad  changes  had 
occurred  in  his  old  home  during  the  two  years  of  his 
absence.  His  mother  had  passed  away  after  her  many 
years  of  patient  suffering,  and  his  father's  temper  and 
habits  were  not  the  better  for  losing  the  wholesome 
restraints  of  her  presence.  But  his  attitude  to  his 
clergyman  son  was  at  once  changed.  He  was  proud  of 
his  reputation  and  his  new-formed  friends,  and  of  the 
proofs  he  had  given  that  the  money  spent  on  his 
education  had  not  been  thrown  away.  But,  apart  from 
the  family  pride  in  him,  and  that  of  Miss  Elmy  and 
other  friends  at  Parham,  Craljbc's  reception  by  his 
former  friends  and  neighbours  in  Aldeburgh  was  not 
of  the  kind  he  might  have  hoped  to  receive.     He  had 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  41 

left  the  place  less  than  three  years  before,  a  half-trained 
and  unappreciated  practitioner  in  physic,  to  seek  his 
fortune  among  strangers  in  London,  with  the  forlomest 
hopes  of  success.  Jealousy  of  his  elevated  position  and 
improved  fortunes  set  in  with  much  severity.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  was  more  than  many  could  tolerate  that 
the  hedge-apothecary  of  old  should  he  empowered  to 
hold  forth  in  a  pulpit.  Crabbe  himself  in  later  life 
admitted  to  his  children  that  his  treatment  at  the 
hands  of  his  fellow-townsmen  was  markedly  unkind. 
Even  though  he  was  happy  in  the  improved  relations 
with  his  own  family,  and  in  the  renewed  opportunities 
of  frequent  intercourse  with  Miss  Elmy  and  the 
Tovells,  Crabbo's  position  during  the  few  months  at 
Aldeburgh  was  far  from  agreeable.  The  religious 
influence,  moreover,  which  he  would  naturally  have 
wished  to  exercise  in  his  new  sphere  would  obviously 
suffer  in  consequence.  The  result  was  that  in  accord- 
ance with  the  assurances  given  him  by  Thurlow  at 
their  last  meeting,  Crabbe  again  laid  his  difficulties 
before  the  Chancellor.  Thurlow  quite  reasonably 
replied  that  he  could  not  form  any  opinion  as  to 
Crabbe's  present  situation — "  still  less  upon  the  agree- 
ableness  of  it";  and  hinted  that  a  somewhat  longer 
period  of  probation  was  advisable  before  he  selected 
Crabbe  for  preferment  in  the  Church. 

Other  relief  was  however  at  hand,  and  once  more 
through  the  watchful  care  of  Burke.  Crabbe  received 
a  letter  from  his  faithful  friend  to  the  effect  that  he 
had  mentioned  his  case  to  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  and 
that  the  Duke  had  offered  him  the  post  of  domestic 
chaplain  at  Belvoir  Castle,  when  he  might  be  free  from 
his  engagements  at  Aldeburgh.      That  Burke    should 


42  CRABBE  [chap. 

have  ventured  on  this  step  is  .significant,  both  as  re- 
gards the  Duke  and  Duchess,  and  Crabbe.     Crabbe's 
son  remarks  with  truth  that  an  appointment  of  the 
kind  was  unusual,  "  such  situations  in  the  mansions  of 
that  rank  being  commonly  filled  either  by  relations  of 
the    family    itself,    or    by    college    acquaintances,  or 
dependents  recommended  by  political  service  and  local 
attachment."     Now  Burke   would  certainly  not  have 
recommended  Crabbe  for  the  post  if  he  had  found  in 
his  prok^gi  any  such  defects  of  breeding  or  social  tact 
as  would  have  made  his  society  distasteful  to  the  Duke 
and  Duchess.     Burke,  as  we  have  seen,  described  him 
on  their  first  acquaintance  as  having  "the  mind  and 
feelings  of  a  gentleman."     Thurlow,  it  is  true,  after  one 
of  Crabbe's  earlier  interviews,  had  declared  with  an 
oath  (wore  sno)  that  he  was  "  as  like  Parson  Adams  as 
twelve  to  a  dozen."     But  Thurlow  was  not  merely 
jesting.     He  knew  that  Fielding's  immortal  clergyman 
had   also   the    "mind   and   feelings   of   a  gentleman," 
although  his  simplicity  and  ignorance  of  the  world  put 
him  at  many  social  disadvantages      It  was  probably 
the  same  obvious  difTerence  in  Crabbe  from  the  com- 
mon type  of  nobleman's  chaplain  of  that  day  which 
made  Crabbe's  position  at  Belvoir,  as  his  son  admits, 
full   of    difficulties.     It    is    quite    possible    and    even 
natural  that  the  guests  and  visitors  at  the  Castle  did 
not  always  accept  Crabbe's  talents  as  making  up  for  a 
certain  want  of  polish — or  even  perhaps  for  a  want  of 
deference    to    their    opinions    in    conversation.      The 
"  pampered  menials  "  moreover  would  probably  resent 
having  "  to  say  Amen  "  to  a  newly-discovered  literary 
adventurer  from  the  great  metropolis. 

In  any  case  Crabbe's  experience  of  a  chaplain's  life 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  43 

at  Bclvoir  was  not,  by  his  son's  adiiiis.sioii,  a  happy 
one.  "The  numberless  allusions,"  he  wrilcs,  "to  the 
nature  of  a  literary  dependent's  existence  in  a  groat 
lord's  house,  which  occur  in  my  father's  wiitings,  and 
especially  in  the  tiilo  of  Tlw  Patron,  are,  however,  quite 
enough  to  lead  any  one  ^\ho  knew  his  character  and 
feelings  to  the  conclusion  that  notwithstanding  the 
kindness  and  condescension  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
themselves — which  were,  I  believe,  uniform,  aiid  of 
which  he  always  spoke  with  gratitude — the  situation 
he  filled  at  Belvoir  was  attended  with  many  painful 
circumstances,  and  productive  in  his  mind  of  some  of 
the  acutest  sensations  of  wounded  pride  that  have  ever 
been  traced  by  any  pen."  It  is  not  necessary  to  hold 
Crabbe  himself  entirely  irresponsil)le  for  this  result. 
His  son,  with  a  frankness  that  marks  the  Biography 
throughout,  does  not  conceal  that  his  father's  temper, 
even  in  later  life,  was  intolerant  of  contradiction, 
and  he  probably  expressed  his  opinions  before  the 
guests  at  Belvoir  with  more  vehemence  than  prudence. 
But  if  the  rebuffs  he  met  with  were  long  remembered, 
they  taught  him  something  of  value,  and  enlarged  that 
stock  of  worldly  wisdom  so  prominent  in  his  later 
writings.  In  the  story  of  The  Patron,  the  young 
student  living  as  the  rich  man's  guest  is  advised  by 
his  father  as  to  his  behaviour  with  a  fulness  of  detail 
obviously  derived  from  Crabbe's  own  recollections  of 
his  early  cleficiencies  : — 

"  Thou  art  Religion's  advocate — t;ike  heed. 
Hurt  not  the  cause  thy  pleasiu'e  'tis  to  plead  ; 
With  wine  before  thee,  and  with  wits  beside, 
Do  not  in  strength  of  reasoning  powers  confide  ; 
What  seems  to  thee  convincing,  certain,  plain, 


44  CRABBE  [chap. 

They  will  deny  and  dare  thee  to  maintain  ; 

And  thus  will  triumph  o'er  thy  eager  youth, 

While  thou  wilt  grieve  for  so  disgracing  truth. 

With  pain  I  've  seen,  these  wrangling  wits  among, 

Faith's  weak  defenders,  passionate  and  young  ; 

Weak  thou  art  not,  yet  not  enough  on  guard 

Where  wit  and  humour  keep  their  watch  and  ward  : 

Men  gay  and  noisy  will  o'erwhelm  thy  sense, 

Then  loudly  laugh  at  Truth's  and  thy  expense  : 

While  the  kind  ladies  will  do  all  they  can 

To  check  their  mirth,  and  cry  TA-e  good  young  man!'" 

Meantime  there  were  alleviations  of  the  poet's  lot. 
If  the  guests  of  the  house  were  not  always  convinced  by 
his  arguments  and  the  servants  did  not  disguise  their 
contempt,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  were  kind,  and  made 
him  their  friend.  Nor  was  the  Duke  without  an  in- 
telligent interest  in  Crabbe's  own  subjects.  Moreover, 
among  the  visitors  at  Belvoir  were  many  who  shared 
that  interest  to  the  full,  such  as  the  Duke  of  Queens- 
berry,  Lord  Lothian,  Bishop  Watson,  and  the  eccentric 
Dr.  Robert  Glynn.  Again,  it  was  during  Crabbe's 
residence  at  Belvoir  that  the  Duke's  brother,  Lord 
Robert  Manners,  died  of  wounds  received  while  leading 
his  ship.  Resolution,  against  the  French  in  the  West 
Indies,  in  the  April  of  1782.  Crabbe's  sympathy  with 
the  family,  shown  in  his  tribute  to  the  sailor-brother 
appended  to  the  poem  he  was  then  bringing  to  com- 
pletion, still  further  strengthened  the  tie  between 
them.  Crabbe  accompanied  the  Duke  to  London 
soon  after,  to  assist  him  in  arranging  with  Stothard 
for  a  picture  to  be  painted  of  the  incident  of  Lord 
Robert's  death.  It  was  during  this  visit  that  Crabbe 
received  the  following  letter  from  Burke.  The  letter 
is  undated,  but  belongs  to  the  month  of  May,  for  The 
Village  was  published  in  that  month,  and  Burke  clearly 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  45 

refers  to  that  poem  as  just  received,  but  as  yet  unread. 
Crabbe  seems  to  have  been  for  the  time  off  duty, 
and  to  have  proposed  a  short  visit  to  the  Burkes  ; — 

"Dkar  Sir, —  I  do  not  know  by  what  unhicky  accident 
you  missed  the  note  I  left  for  you  at  my  house,  I  wrote 
besides  to  you  at  Belvoir.  If  you  had  received  these  two 
short  letters  you  could  not  want  an  invitation  to  a  place 
where  every  one  considers  himself  as  infinitely  honoured  and 
pleased  by  your  presence.  Mrs.  Burke  desires  her  be.st 
compliments,  and  trusts  that  you  will  not  let  the  holidays 
pass  over  without  a  visit  from  you.  I  have  got  the  poem  ; 
but  I  have  not  yet  opened  it.  I  don't  like  the  unhappy 
language  you  use  about  these  matters.  You  do  not  easily 
please  such  a  judgment  as  your  own — that  Ls  natural ;  but 
where  you  are  difficult  every  one  else  will  be  charmed.  I  am, 
my  dear  sir,  ever  most  aifectionately  yours, 

Edmund  Burke." 

The  "  unhappy  language  "  seems  to  point  to  Crabbe 
having  expressed  some  diffidence  or  forebodings  con- 
cerning his  new  venture.  Yet  Crabbe  bad  less  to  fear 
on  this  head  than  with  most  of  his  early  poems.  TJie 
Villaije  had  been  schemed  and  composed  in  parts 
before  Crabbe  knew  Burke.  One  pa.'^sage  in  it  indeed, 
as  we  have  seen,  had  first  convinced  Burke  that  the 
writer  was  a  poet.  And  in  the  interval  that  followed 
the  poem  had  been  completed  and  matured  with  a 
care  that  Crabbe  seldom  afterwards  bestowed  upon 
his  productions.  Burke  himself  hud  suggested  and 
criticised  much  during  its  progress,  and  the  manuscript 
had  further  been  submitted  through  Sir  Joshua  Eey- 
nolds  to  Johnson,  who  not  only  revised  it  in  detail  but 
re-wrote  half  a  dozen  of  the  opening  lines.  Johnson's 
opinion  of  the  poem  was  conveyed  to  Reynolds  in 
the  following  letter,  and  here  at  last  we  get  a  date : — 


40  CRABBE  [chap. 

March  4,  1783. 

"  Sir, — I  have  sent  you  back  Mr.  Crabbe's  poem,  which  I 
read  with  great  delight.  It  is  original,  vigorous,  and  elegant. 
The  alterations  which  I  have  made  I  do  not  require  him  to 
adopt ;  for  my  luies  are  perhaps  not  often  better  than  his 
own  :  but  he  may  take  mine  and  his  own  together,  and 
perhaps  between  them  produce  something  better  than  either. 
He  is  not  to  think  his  copy  wantonly  defaced  :  a  wet  sponge 
win  wash  all  the  red  lines  away  and  leave  the  pages  clean. 
His  dedication  will  be  least  liked  :  it  were  better  to  contract 
it  into  a  short,  sprightly  address.  I  do  not  doubt  of  Mr. 
Crabbe's  success.     I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

Samuel  Johnson." 

Boswell's  comment  on  this  incident  is  as  follows  : — 
"The  sentiments  of  Mr.  Crabbe's  admirable  poem  as  to 
the  false  notions  of  rustic  happiness  and  rustic  virtue 
were  quite  congenial  with  Dr.  Johnson's  own :  and  he 
took  the  trouble  not  only  to  suggest  slight  corrections 
and  variations,  but  to  furnish  some  lines  when  he 
thought  he  could  give  the  writer's  meaning  better  than 
in  the  words  of  the  manuscript."  Boswell  went  on  to 
observe  that  "  the  aid  given  by  Johnson  to  the  poem, 
as  to  The  Traveller  and  Deserted  Village  of  Goldsmith, 
were  so  small  as  by  no  means  to  impair  the  dis- 
tinguished merit  of  the  author."  There  were  un- 
friendly critics,  however,  in  Crabbe's  native  county 
.who  professed  to  think  otherwise,  and  "whispered 
that  the  manuscript  had  been  so  cobbled  by  Burke  and 
Johnson  that  its  author  did  not  know  it  again  when 
returned  to  him."  On  which  Crabbe's  son  rejoins  that 
"if  these  kind  persons  survived  to  read  The  Parish 
Ilef/isfer  their  amiable  conjectures  must  have  received 
a  sufficient  rebuke. " 

This  confident  retort  is  not  wholly  just.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  some  special  mannerisms  and  defects 


in.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BUllKK  47 

of  Crabbe's  later  style  bad  been  kept  in  cbeck  by  the 
wise  revision  of  his  friends.  And  again,  when  after  more 
than  twenty  years  Crabbe  produced  The  Parish  lU'r/istei; 
that  poem,  as  we  shall  see,  had  received  from  Charles 
James  Fox  something  of  the  same  friendly  revision 
and  suggestion  as  The  Village  had  received  from  Burke 
and  Johnson. 

Tlie  Village,  in  quarto,  published  by  J.  Dodsley, 
Pall  Mall,  appeared  in  May  1783,  and  at  once 
attracted  attention  by  novel  qualities.  Among  these 
was  the  bold  realism  of  the  village-life  described,  and 
the  minute  painting  of  the  scenery  among  which  it 
was  led.  Cowper  had  pu])lished  his  fiist  volume  a 
year  before,  but  thus  far  it  had  failed  to  excite  general 
interest,  and  had  met  with  no  sale.  Burns  had  as 
yet  published  nothing.  But  two  poetic  masterpieces, 
dealing  with  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  village  folk, 
were  fresh  in  Englishmen's  memory.  One  was  The 
Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard,  the  other  was  The 
Deserted  Village,  Both  had  left  a  deep  impression 
upon  their  readers — and  with  reason — for  two  poems, 
more  certain  of  immortality,  because  certain  of  giving 
a  pleasure  that  cannot  grow  old-fashioned,  do  not 
exist  in  our  literature.  Each  indeed  marked  an  ad- 
vance upon  all  that  English  descriptive  or  didactic 
poets  had  thus  far  contributed  towards  making  humble 
life  and  rural  scenery  attractive — unless  we  except 
the  Allegro  of  Milton  and  some  passages  in  Thomson's 
Seasons.  Nor  was  it  merely  the  consummate  work- 
manship of  Gray  and  Goldsmith  that  had  made  their 
popularity.  The  genuineness  of  the  pathos  in  the 
two  poems  was  beyond  suspicion,  although  with  Gray 
it  was  blended  with  a  melancholy  that  was  native  to 


48  CRABBK  [chap. 

himself.  Although  their  authors  had  not  been  brought 
into  close  personal  relations  with  the  joys  and  sorrows 
dealt  with,  there  was  nothing  of  sentiment,  in  any 
unworthy  sense,  in  either  poet's  ti-eatment  of  his  theme. 
But  the  result  of  their  studies  of  humble  village  life 
was  to  produce  something  quite  distinct  from  the 
treatment  of  the  realist.  What  they  saw  and  re- 
membered had  passed  through  the  transfiguring  medium 
of  a  poet's  imagination  before  it  reached  the  reader. 
The  finished  product,  like  the  honey  of  the  bee,  was 
due  to  the  poet  as  well  as  to  the  flower  from  which 
he  had  derived  the  raw  material. 

It  seems  to  have  been  generally  assumed  when 
Crabbe's  Village  appeared,  that  it  was  of  the  nature  of 
a  rejoinder  to  Goldsmith's  poem,  and  the  fact  that 
Crabbe  quotes  a  line  from  The  Deserted  Village,  "Passing 
rich  on  forty  pounds  a  year,"  in  his  own  description  of 
the  village  parson,  might  seem  to  confirm  that  impres- 
sion. But  the  opening  lines  of  The  Village  point  to  a 
different  origin.  It  was  rather  during  those  early 
years  when  George's  father  read  aloud  to  his  family 
the  pastorals  of  the  so-called  Augustan  age  of  English 
poetry,  that  the  boy  was  first  struck  with  the  unreality 
and  consequent  worthlessness  of  the  conventional 
pictures  of  rural  life.  And  in  the  opening  lines  of  The 
Village  he  boldly  challenges  the  judgment  of  his  readers 
on  this  head.  The  "  pleasant  land  "  of  the  pastoral 
poets  was  one  of  which  George  Crabbe,  not  unjustly, 
"  thought  scorn." 

"  The  village  life,  and  every  care  that  reigns 
O'er  youthful  peasants  and  declining  swains, 
What  labour  yields,  and  what,  that  labour  past, 
Age,  in  its  hour  of  languor,  finds  at  last ; 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  49 

What  fonn  the  real  picture  of  the  poor, 
Demand  a  sonj,' — the  Muse  can  give  no  more. 

Fled  are  those  times  when  in  harmonious  strains 
The  rustic  poet  praised  his  native  plains  : 
No  shepherds  now,  in  smooth  alternate  verse, 
Theii-  country's  beauty  or  their  nymphs'  rehearse  ; 
Yet  still  for  these  we  frame  the  tender  strain. 
Still  in  our  lays  fond  Corydons  complain. 
And  shepherds'  boys  their  amorous  pains  reveal, 
The  only  pains,  alas  !  they  never  feel." 

At  this  point  follow  the  six  lines  -which  Johnson  had 
substituted  for  the  author's.     Crabbc  had  written  : — 

"  In  fairer  scenes,  where  peaceful  pleasures  spring, 
Tityrus,  the  pride  of  Mantuan  swains,  might  sing  : 
But  charmed  by  him,  or  smitten  with  his  views. 
Shall  modern  poets  court  the  Mantuan  muse  ? 
From  Truth  and  Nature  shall  we  widely  stray, 
Where  Fancy  leads,  or  Virgil  led  the  "svay  ? " 

Johnson  substituted  the  following,  and  Crabbe  ac- 
cepted the  revised  version  : — 

"  On  Mincio's  banks,  in  Ca?sar's  bounteous  reign. 
If  Tityi-us  found  the  Golden  Age  again. 
Must  sleepy  bards  the  flattering  dream  prolong, 
Mechanic  echoes  of  the  Mantuan  song  ? 
From  Truth  and  Nature  shall  we  widely  stray. 
Where  Virgil,  not  where  Fancy,  leads  the  way  ?  " 

The  first  four  lines  of  Johnson  are  beyond  question 
an  improvement,  and  it  is  worth  remark  in  passing 
how  in  the  fourth  line  he  has  aTiticipated  CoAvper's 
"  made  poetry  a  mere  mechanic  art." 

But  in  the  concluding  couplet,  Crabbe's  meaning 
seems  to  lose  in  clearness  through  the  change.  Crabbe 
intended  to  ask  whether  it  was  safe  to  desert  truth  and 
nature  for  one's  own  self-pleasing  fancies,  even  though 

D 


50  CRABBE  [chap. 

Virgil  had  set  the  example.  Johnson's  version  seems 
to  obscure  rather  than  to  make  clearer  this  interpreta- 
tion. Crabbe,  after  this  protest  against  the  conven- 
tional, which,  if  unreal  at  the  outset,  had  become  a 
thousand  times  more  wearisome  by  repetition,  passes 
on  to  a  daring  presentation  of  real  life  lived  among  all 
the  squalor  of  actual  poverty,  not  unskilfully  inter- 
spersed with  descriptions  equally  faithful  of  the  barren 
coast-scenery  among  which  he  had  been  brought  up. 
It  has  been  already  remarked  how  Crabbe's  eye  for 
rural  nature  had  been  quickened  and  made  more  exact 
by  his  studies  in  botany.  There  was  little  in  the 
poetry  then  popular  that  reproduced  an  actual  scene  as 
perfectly  as  do  the  following  lines : — 

"  Lo  !  where  the  heath,  with  withering  brake  grown  o'er, 
Lends  the  lii^ht  turf  that  warms  the  neighbouring  poor  ; 
From  thence  a  length  of  burning  sand  appears, 
Where  the  thin  harvest  waves  its  withered  ears  ; 
Eank  weeds,  that  every  art  and  care  defy, 
Eeign  o'er  the  land,  and  rob  the  blighted  rye  : 
There  thistles  stretch  their  prickly  arms  afar. 
And  to  the  ragged  infant  tlireaten  war  ; 
There  poppies  nodding,  mock  the  hope  of  toil ; 
There  the  blue  bugloss  paints  the  sterile  soil ; 
Hardy  and  high  above  the  slender  sheaf 
The  slimy  mallow  waves  her  silky  leaf ; 
O'er  the  young  shoot  the  charlock  throws  a  shade, 
And  clasping  tares  cling  round  the  sickly  blade  ; 
With  mingled  tints  the  rocky  coasts  abound. 
And  a  sad  splendour  vainly  shines  around." 

Crabbe  here  perceives  the  value,  as  Goldsmith  had 
done  before  him,  of  village  scenery  as  a  background  to 
his  picture  of  village  life.  It  suited  Goldsmith's  pur- 
pose to  describe  the  ideal  rural  community,  happy, 
prosperous,  and  innocent,  as  contrast  with  that  depo- 


III.]  FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BURKE  51 

pulation  of  villages  and  corruption  of  peasant  life 
which  ho  predicted  from  the  growing  luxury  and 
selfishness  of  the  rich.  But  notwithstanding  the  title 
of  the  poem,  it  is  Auburn  in  its  pristine  condition  that 
remains  in  our  memories.  The  dominant  thought 
expressed  is  the  virtue  and  the  happiness  that  belong 
by  nature  to  village  life.  Cralibe  saw  that  this  was 
no  less  idyllic  and  lun-eal,  or  at  least  incomplete,  than 
the  pictures  of  shepherd  life  pi-esentcd  in  the  faded 
copies  of  Theocritus  and  Virgil  that  had  so  long 
satisfied  the  English  readers  of  poetry.  There  was  no 
unreality  in  Goldsmith's  design.  They  were  not 
fictitious  and  "lucrative"  tears  that  he  shed.  For  his 
object  was  to  portray  an  English  rural  village  in  its 
ideality — rural  loveliness — enshrining  rural  innocence 
and  joy — and  to  show  how  man's  vices,  invading  it  from 
the  outside,  might  bring  all  to  ruin.  Crabbe's  purpose 
was  different.  He  aimed  to  awaken  pity  and  sympathy 
for  rural  sins  and  sorrows  with  which  he  had  himself 
been  in  closest  touch,  and  which  sprang  from  causes 
always  in  operation  within  the  heart  of  the  community 
itself,  and  not  to  be  attributed  to  the  insidious  attacks 
from  without.  Goldsmith,  for  example,  drew  an  im- 
mortal picture  of  the  village  pastor,  closely  modelled 
upon  Chaucer's  "poor  parson  of  a  town,"  his  piety, 
humility,  and  never  failing  goodness  to  his  flock  : — 

"  Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride. 
And  even  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side  ; 
But  ia  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call 
He  -watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all. 
And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fled<;ed  ofispring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Alhircd  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way." 


52  CRABBE  [chap. 

Crahbe  remembered  a  different  type  of  parish  priest 
in  his  boyhood,  and  this  is  how  he  introduces  him. 
He  has  been  describing,  with  an  unmitigated  realism, 
the  village  poorhouse,  in  all  its  squalor  and  dilapida- 
tion : — 

"  There  children  dwell  who  know  no  parents'  care  : 
Parents,  who  know  no  children's  love,  dwell  there. 
Heart-broken  matrons  on  their  joyless  bed, 
Forsaken  wives,  and  mothers  never  wed." 

The  dying  pauper  needs  some  spiritual  consolation 
ere  he  passes  into  the  unseen  world, 

"  But  ere  his  death  some  pious  doubts  arise, 
Some  simple  fears  which  bold,  bad  inen  despise  ; 
Fain  would  he  ask  the  parish  priest  to  prove 
His  title  certain  to  the  joys  above  : 
For  this  he  sends  the  munnurLiig  nurse,  who  calls 
The  holy  stranger  to  these  dismal  walls  ; 
And  doth  not  he,  the  pious  man,  appear. 
He,  '  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year '  ? 
Ah  !  no  :  a  shepherd  of  a  different  stock. 
And  far  unlike  him,  feeds  this  little  flock  : 
A  jovial  youth,  who  thinks  his  Sunday's  task 
As  much  as  God  or  man  can  fairly  ask  ; 
The  rest  he  gives  to  loves  and  labours  light, 
To  fields  the  morning,  and  to  feasts  the  night ; 
None  better  skilled  the  noisy  pack  to  guide, 
To  urge  their  chase,  to  cheer  them  or  to  chide  ; 
A  .sportsman  keen,  he  shoots  through  half  the  day. 
And,  skilled  at  whist,  devotes  the  night  to  play  : 
Then,  while  such  honours  bloom  around  liis  head, 
Shall  he  sit  sadly  by  the  sick  man's  bed. 
To  raise  the  hope  he  feels  not,  or  with  zeal 
To  combat  fears  that  e'en  the  pious  feel?" 

Crabbe's  son,  after  his  father's  death,  cited  in  a  note 


III.]  FRIKNDSHir  WITH  BURKE  53 

on  these  lines  what  he  held  to  be  a  parallel  passage 
from  Cowper'.s  Progress  of  Error,  beginning  : — 
"  Oh,  l;iuj,'h  or  mourn  with  lae  the  rueful  jest, 
A  cassocked  huntsman,  and  a  fiddling  priest." 

Cowper's  first  volume,  containing  Tahle-Talk  and 
its  companion  satires,  appeared  some  months  before 
Crabbe's  Villwje.  The  shortcomings  of  the  clergy  are  a 
favourite  topic  with  him,  and  a  varied  gallery  of  the 
existing  types  of  clerical  inefficiency  may  be  formed 
from  his  pages.  Many  of  Cowper's  strictures  were 
amply  justified  by  the  condition  of  the  English 
Church.  But  Cowper's  method  is  not  Crabbe's.  The 
note  of  the  satirist  is  seldom  absent,  blended  at  times 
with  just  a  suspicion  of  that  of  the  Pharisee.  The 
himiorist  and  the  Puritan  contend  for  predom- 
inance in  the  breast  of  this  polished  gentleman  and 
scholar.  Cowper's  friend,  Newton,  in  the  Preface 
he  wrote  for  his  first  volume,  claimed  for  the  poet  that 
his  satire  was  "benevolent."  But  it  was  not  always 
discriminating  or  just.  The  satirist's  keen  love  of 
antithesis  often  weakens  the  moral  virtue  of  Cowper's 
strictures.  In  this  earliest  volume  anger  was  more 
conspicuous  than  sorrow,  and  contempt  perhaps  more 
obvious  than  either.  The  callousness  of  public  opinion 
on  many  subjects  needed  other  medicine  than  this. 
Hence  was  it  perhaps  that  Cowper's  volume,  which 
appeared  in  May  1782,  failed  to  awaken  interest. 
Crabbe's  Vilkuje  appeared  just  a  year  later  (it  had  been 
completed  a  year  or  two  earlier),  and  at  once  made  its 
mark.  "It  was  praised,"  writes  his  son,  "in  the 
leading  journals ;  the  sale  was  rapid  and  extensive ; 
and  my  father's  reputation  was  by  universal  consent 
greatly  raised,   and  permanently   established,  by  this 


64  CRABBE  [chap.  in. 

poem."  The  number  of  anonymous  letters  it  brought 
the  author,  some  of  gratitude,  and  some  of  resentment 
(for  it  had  laid  its  finger  on  many  sores  in  the  body- 
politic),  showed  how  deeply  his  touch  had  been  felt. 
Further  publicity  for  the  poem  was  obtained  by  Burke, 
who  inserted  the  description  of  the  Parish  Workhouse 
and  the  Village  Apothecary  in  The  Annual  JiCgisfer, 
which  he  controlled.  The  same  pieces  were  included  a 
few  years  later  by  Vicesinnis  Knox  in  that  excellent 
Miscellany  Elegant  E.drarfs.  And  Crabbe  was  to 
learn  in  later  life  from  Walter  Scott  how,  when  a 
youth  of  eighteen,  spending  a  snowy  winter  in  a  lonely 
country-house,  he  fell  in  with  the  volume  of  The 
Annual  Register  containing  the  passages  from  The 
Village-,  how  deeply  they  had  sunk  into  his  heart; 
and  that  (writing  then  to  Crabbe  in  the  year  1809)  he 
could  repeat  them  still  from  memory. 

Edmund  Burke's  friend,  Edward  Shackleton,  meeting 
Crabbe  at  Burke's  house  soon  after  the  publication  of 
the  poem,  paid  him  an  elegant  tribute.  Goldsmith's, 
he  said,  would  now  be  the  "  deserted  "  village.  Crabbe 
modestly  disclaimed  the  compliment,  and  assuredly 
with  reason.  Goldsmith's  delightful  poem  will  never 
be  deserted.  For  it  is  no  less  good  and  wise  to  dwell 
on  village  life  as  it  might  be,  than  to  reflect  on  what  it 
has  suffered  from  man's  inhumanity  to  man.  What 
made  Crabbe  a  new  force  in  English  poetry,  was  that 
in  his  verse  Pity  appears,  after  a  long  oblivion,  as  the 
true  antidote  to  Sentimentalism.  The  reader  is  not 
put  off  with  pretty  imaginings,  but  is  led  up  to  the 
object  which  the  poet  would  show  him,  and  made  to 
feel  its  horror.  If  Crabbe  is  our  first  great  realist 
in  verse,  he  uses  his  realism  in  the  cause  of  a  true 
humanity.     Facit  indignatio  versum. 


CHAPTER    IV 

LIFE  AT  BELVOIK  CASTLE    AND  AT  MUSTON 

(1783-1792) 

"The  sudden  popularity  of  TJie  Village,''  writes 
Crabbe's  son  and  l)iographer,  "must  have  produced, 
after  tlie  numberless  slights  and  disappointments 
already  mentioned,  and  even  after  the  tolerable  suc- 
cess of  The  Library,  about  as  strong  a  revulsion  in  my 
father's  mind  as  a  ducal  chaplaincy  in  his  circum- 
stances ;  but  there  was  no  change  in  his  temper  or 
manners.  The  successful  author  continued  as  modest 
as  the  rejected  candidate  for  publication  had  been 
patient  and  long-suffering."  The  biographer  might 
have  remarked  as  no  less  strange  that  the  success  of 
The  Villarje  failed,  for  the  moment  at  least,  to  convince 
Crabbe  where  his  true  strength  lay.  "When  he  again 
published  a  poem,  two  years  later,  he  reverted  to  the 
old  Popian  topics  and  methods  in  a  by  no  means 
successful  didactic  satire  on  newspapers.  Meantime 
the  occasional  visits  of  the  Duke  of  Ivutland  and  his 
family  to  London  brought  the  chaplain  again  in  touch 
with  the  Burkes  and  the  friends  he  had  first  made 
through  them,  notably  with  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds.  He 
was  also  able  to  visit  the  theatre  occasionally,  and 
fell  under  the  spell,  not  only  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  but  of 

66 


66  CRABBE  [chap. 

Mrs.  Jordan  (in  the  character  of  Sir  Harry  Wildair). 
It  was  now  decided  that  as  a  nobleman's  chaplain  it 
would  1)6  well  for  him  to  have  a  university  degree, 
and  to  this  end  his  name  was  entered  on  the  boards 
of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  through  the  good 
offices  of  Bishop  Watson  of  Llandaff,  with  a  view  to 
his  obtaining  a  degree  without  residence.  This  was 
in  1783,  but  almost  immediately  afterwards  he  received 
an  LL.B.  degree  from  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
This  was  obtained  for  Crabbe  in  order  that  he  might 
hold  two  small  livings  in  Dorsetshire,  Frome  St. 
Quintin  and  Evershot,  to  which  he  had  just  been 
presented  by  Thurlow.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that 
the  Chancellor  made  his  memorable  comparison  of 
Crabbe  to  Parson  Adams,  no  doubt  pointing  to  a 
certain  rusticity,  and  possibly  provincial  accent,  from 
which  Crabbe  seems  never  to  have  been  wholly  free. 
This  promotion  seems  to  have  interfered  very  little  with 
Crabbe's  residence  at  Belvoir  or  in  London.  A  curate 
was  doubtless  placed  in  one  or  other  of  the  parsonage- 
houses  in  Dorsetshire  at  such  modest  stipend  as  was 
then  usual — often  not  more  than  thirty  pounds  a  year — 
and  the  rector  would  content  himself  with  a  periodical 
flying  visit  to  receive  tithe,  or  inquire  into  any  parish 
grievances  that  may  have  reached  his  ear.  As  inci- 
dents of  this  kind  will  be  not  infrequent  during  the 
twenty  years  that  follow  in  Crabbe's  clerical  career,  it 
may  be  well  to  intimate  at  once  that  no  peculiar 
blame  attaches  to  him  in  the  matter.  Pie  but 
"partook  of  the  frailty  of  his  times."  During  these 
latter  years  of  the  eighteenth  century,  as  for  long 
before  and  after,  pluralism  in  the  Church  was  rather 
the  rule  than  the  exception,  and  in  consequence  non- 


IV.]  LIFE  AT  BELVOIR  CASTLE  f)? 

residence  was  recognised  as  inevitable,  and  hardly 
matter  for  comment.  The  two  Dorsetshire  livings 
were  of  small  value,  and  as  Crubbe  was  now  looking 
forward  to  his  marriage  with  the  faithful  Miss  Elmy, 
he  could  not  have  afforded  to  reside.  He  may  not, 
however,  have  thought  it  politic  to  decline  the  first 
preferment  offered  by  so  important  a  dispenser  of 
patronage  as  the  Lord  Chancellor. 

Events,  however,  were  at  hand,  which  helped  to 
determine  Crabbe's  immediate  future.  Early  in  1784 
the  Duke  of  Rutland  became  Lord  Lieutenant  of 
Ireland.  The  appointment  had  been  made  some  time 
before,  and  it  had  been  decided  that  Crab})e  was  not 
to  be  on  the  Castle  staff.  His  son  expresses  no  surprise 
at  this  decision,  and  makes  of  it  no  gi'ievance.  The 
duke  and  the  chaplain  parted  excellent  friends. 
Crabbe  and  his  wife  were  to  remain  at  Belvoir  as  long 
as  it  suited  their  convenience,  and  the  duke  undertook 
that  he  would  not  forget  him  as  regarded  future  pre- 
ferment. On  the  strength  of  these  offers,  Crabbe  and 
Miss  Elmy  were  married  in  December  1783,  in  the 
parish  church  of  Beccles,  where  Miss  Elniy's  mother 
resided,  and  a  few  weeks  later  took  up  their  abode  in 
the  rooms  assigned  them  at  Belvoir  Castle. 

As  Miss  Elmy  had  lived  for  many  years  with  her 
uncle  and  aunt,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Tovell,  at  Parham, 
and  moreover  as  this  rural  inland  village  played  a  con- 
siderable part  in  the  development  of  Crabbe's  poetical 
faculty,  it  may  be  well  to  quote  his  son's  graphic 
account  of  the  domestic  circumstances  of  Miss  Elmy's 
relatives.  Mr.  Tovell  was,  like  Mr.  Hathaway,  "a 
substantial  yeoman,"  for  he  owned  an  estate  of  some 
eight  hundred  a  year,  to  some  share  of  which,  as  the 


58  CRABBE  [chap. 

TovcUs  had  lost  their  only  child,  Miss  Elmy  would 
certainly  in  due  course  succeed.  The  Tovells'  house  at 
Parham,  which  has  been  long  ago  pulled  down,  and 
rebuilt  as  Parham  Lodge,  on  very  different  lines,  was 
of  ample  size,  with  its  moat,  so  common  a  feature 
of  the  homestead  in  the  eastern  counties,  "rookery, 
dove-cot,  and  fish-ponds  " ;  but  the  surroundings  were 
those  of  the  ordinary  farmhouse,  for  Mr.  Tovell  himself 
cultivated  part  of  his  estate. 

"  The  drawing-room,  a  corresponding  dining-parlour, 
and  a  handsome  sleeping  apartment  upstairs,  were  all 
tabooed  ground,  and  made  use  of  on  great  and  solemn 
occasions  only — such  as  rent-days,  and  an  occasional 
visit  with  which  Mr.  Tovell  was  honoured  by  a  neigh- 
bouring peer.  At  all  other  times  the  family  and  their 
visitors  lived  entirely  in  the  old-fashioned  kitchen 
along  with  the  servants.  My  great-uncle  occupied  an 
armchair,  or,  in  attacks  of  gout,  a  couch  on  one  side  of 
a  large  open  chimney.  ...  At  a  very  early  hour  in 
the  morning  the  alarum  called  the  maids,  and  their 
mistress  also ;  and  if  the  former  were  tardy,  a  louder 
alarum,  and  more  fonnidable,  was  heard  chiding  their 
delay — not  that  scolding  was  peculiar  to  any  occasion ; 
it  regularly  ran  on  through  all  the  day,  like  bells  on 
harness,  inspiriting  the  work,  whether  it  were  done 
well  or  ill."  In  the  annotated  volume  of  the  son's 
memoir  which  belonged  to  Edward  FitzGerald,  the 
writer  added  the  following  detail  as  to  his  great-aunt's 
temper  and  methods  :— "  A  wench  whom  Mrs.  Tovell 
had  pursued  with  something  weightier  than  invective 
— a  ladle,  I  think — whimpered  out  '  If  an  angel  from 
Hiv'n  were  to  come  mawther ' "  (Suffolk  for  girl)  "  '  to 
missus,  she  wouldn't  give  no  satisfaction.'" 


IV.]  LIFE  AT  J5ELV0IR  CASTLE  50 

George  Crabljc  the  younger,  who  gives  this  graphic 
account  of  the  manage  at  Parham,  was  naturally 
anxious  to  claim  for  his  mother,  who  so  long  formed 
one  of  this  queer  household,  a  degree  of  refinement 
superior  to  that  of  her  surroundings.  After  describing 
the  daily  dinner-party  in  the  kitchen — master,  mistress, 
servants,  with  an  occasional  "  travelling  rat-catcher  or 
tinker" — he  skilfully  points  out  thai  his  mother's 
feelings  must  have  resembled  those  of  the  Iwarding- 
school  miss  in  his  father's  "  Widow's  Tale  "  when  sub- 
jected to  a  like  experience  : — 

"  But  when  the  men  beside  their  station  took, 
The  maidens  with  them,  and  with  these  the  cook  ; 
When  one  huge  wooden  l)owI  before  thera  stood, 
Filled  with  huge  balls  of  farinaceous  food  ; 
With  bacon,  mass  saUne  !  where  never  lean 
Beneath  the  brown  and  bristly  rind  was  seen  : 
When  from  a  single  horn  the  party  drew 
Their  copious  draughts  of  heavy  ale  and  new  ; 
When  the  coarse  cloth  she  saw,  with  many  a.  stain, 
Soiled  by  rude  hinds  who  cut  and  came  again — 
She  could  not  breathe,  but  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
Reined  the  fair  neck,  and  shut  th'  offended  eye  ; 
She  minced  the  sanguine  flesh  in  frustums  fine, 
And  wondered  nuich  to  see  the  creatures  dine  !  " 

The  home  of  the  Tovells  has  long  disappeared,  and 
it  must  not  therefore  be  confused  with  the  more 
remarkable  "moated  grange"  in  Parham,  originally 
the  mansion  of  the  Willoughbys,  though  now  a  farm- 
house, boasting  a  fine  Tudor  gateway  and  other 
fragments  of  fifteentli  and  sixteenth  century  work. 
An  engraving  of  the  Hall  and  moat,  after  Stanfield, 
forms  an  illustration  to  the  third  volume  of  the  1831 
edition  of  Crabbe. 


60  CRABBE  [chap. 

When  Crabbc  began  TJie  Village,  it  was  clearly 
intended  to  be,  like  The  Borough  later,  a  picture  of 
Aldeburgh  and  its  inhabitants.  Yet  not  only  Parham, 
but  the  country  about  Belvoir  crept  in  before  the  poem 
was  completed.    If  the  passage  in  Book  i.  beginning : — 

"  Lo  !  -where  the  heath,  with  withering  brake  grown  o'er," 

describes  pure  Aldeburgh,  the  opening  lines  of  Book  ii., 
taking  a  more  roseate  view  of  rural  happiness  : — 

"  I,  too,  must  yield,  that  oft  amid  those  woes 
Are  gleams  of  transient  mirth  and  hours  of  sweet  repose, 
Such  as  you  find  on  yonder  sportive  Green, 
The  squire's  tall  gate,  and  churchway-walk  between. 
Where  loitering  stray  a  little  tribe  of  friends 
On  a  fair  Sunday  when  the  sermon  ends," 

are  drawn  from  the  pleasant  villages  in  the  Mid- 
lands (perhaps  Allington,  where  he  was  afterwards 
to  minister),  whither  he  rambled  on  his  botanising 
excursions  from  Belvoir  Castle, 

George  Crabbe  and  his  bride  settled  down  in  their 
apartments  at  Belvoir  Castle,  but  difficulties  soon 
arose.  Crabbe  was  without  definite  clerical  occupa- 
tion, unless  he  read  prayers  to  the  few  servants  left 
in  charge ;  and  was  simply  waiting  for  whatever  might 
turn  up  in  the  way  of  preferment  from  the  Manners 
family,  or  from  the  Lord  Chancellor.  The  young 
couple  soon  found  the  position  intolerable,  and  after 
less  than  eighteen  months  Crabbe  wisely  accepted  a 
vacant  curacy  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  of  Stathern 
in  Leicestershire,  to  the  humble  parsonage  of  which 
parish  Crabbe  and  his  wife  removed  in  1785.  A  child 
had  been  born  to  them  at  Belvoir,  who  survived  its 
birth  only  a  few  hours.     During  the  following  four 


IV.]  LIFE  AT  BELVOIR  CASTLE  61 

years  at  Stathcrn  were  born  three  other  children — the 
two  sons,  George  and  John,  in  1785  and  1787,  and 
a  daughter  in  1789,  who  died  in  infancy. 

Stathcrn  is  a  village  about  four  miles  from  Bclroir 
Castle,  and  the  drive  or  walk  from  one  to  the  other 
lies  through  the  far-spreading  woods  and  gardens  sur- 
rounding the  ducal  mansion.  Crabbe  entered  these 
woods  almost  at  his  very  door,  and  found  there  ample 
opportvinity  for  his  botanical  studies,  which  were  still 
his  hobby.  As  usual  his  post  was  that  of  locum  tenens, 
the  rector.  Dr.  Thomas  Parke,  then  residing  at  his 
other  living  at  Stamford.  My  friend,  the  Rev,  J.  \V. 
Taylor,  the  j^resent  rector  of  Stathcrn,  who  entered 
on  his  duties  in  18G6,  tells  me  of  one  or  two  of  the 
village  traditions  concerning  Crabbe.  One  of  these 
is  to  the  efTect  that  he  spoke  "through  his  nose," 
which  I  take  to  have  been  the  local  explanation  of 
a  marked  Suffolk  accent  which  accompanied  the  poet 
through  life.  Another,  that  he  was  peppery  of  temper, 
and  that  an  exceedingly  youthful  couple  having  pre- 
sented themselves  for  holy  matrimony,  Crabbe  drove 
them  with  scorn  from  the  altar,  with  the  remark  that 
he  had  come  there  to  marry  "men  and  women,  and 
not  lads  and  wenches  !  " 

Crabbe  used  to  tell  his  children  that  the  four  years 
at  Stathern  were,  on  the  whole,  the  happiest  in  his 
life.  He  and  his  wife  were  in  humble  quarters,  but 
they  were  their  own  masters,  and  they  were  quit  of 
"the  pampered  menial"  for  ever.  "My  mother  and 
he,"  the  son  writes,  "could  now  ramble  together  at 
their  ease  amidst  the  rich  woods  of  Belvoir  without 
any  of  the  painful  feelings  which  had  before  chequered 
his  enjoyment  of  the  place  :  at  home  a  garden  aflbrded 


62  CRABBR  [chap. 

him  healthful  exercise  and  unfailing  amusement ;  and 
his  situation  as  a  curate  prevented  him  from  being 
drawn  into  any  sort  of  unpleasant  disputes  with  the 
villagers  about  him  "—an  ambiguous  statement  which 
probably,  however,  means  that  the  absent  rector  had 
to  settle  difficulties  as  to  tithe,  and  other  parochial 
grievances.  Crabbe  now  again  brought  his  old  medical 
attainments,  such  as  they  were,  to  the  aid  of  his  poor 
parishioners,  "and  had  often  great  difficulty  in  confining 
his  practice  strictly  within  the  limits  of  the  poor,  for 
the  farmers  would  willingly  have  been  attended  gratis 
also."  His  literary  labours  subsequent  to  The  Village 
seem  to  have  been  slight,  with  the  exception  of  a  brief 
memoir  of  Lord  Eobert  Manners  contributed  to  The 
Annual  Register  in  1784,  for  the  poem  of  The  NewA- 
paper,  published  in  1785,  was  probably  '"'old  stock." 
It  is  unlikely  that  Crabbe,  after  the  success  of  The 
Village,  should  have  willingly  turned  again  to  the  old 
and  unpTofita])Ie  vein  of  didactic  satire.  But,  the 
poem  being  in  his  desk,  he  perhaps  thought  that  it 
might  bring  in  a  few  pounds  to  a  household  which 
certainlj''  needed  them.  "  Tlie  Newspaper,  a  Poem,  Ijy 
the  Rev.  George  Crabbe,  Chaplain  to  his  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Rutland,  printed  for  J.  Dodsley,  in  Pall 
Mall,"  appeared  as  a  quarto  pamphlet  (price  2s.)  in 
1785,  ^v'ith  a  felicitous  motto  from  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses on  the  title-page,  and  a  politic  dedication  to 
Lord  Thurlow,  e\incing  a  gratitude  for  past  favours, 
and  (unexpressed)  a  lively  sense  of  favours  to  come. 

The  Newspjaj)er  is,  to  say  truth,  of  little  value, 
either  as  throwing  light  on  the  journalism  of  Crabl)e's 
day,  or  as  a  step  in  his  poetic  career.  The  topics  are 
commonplace,  such  as  the  strange  admixture  of  news, 


IV.]  LIFE  AT  BELVOIR  CASTLE  63 

the  interfercnco  of  the  newspaper  with  more  useful 
reading,  and  the  development  of  the  advertiser's  art. 
It  is  written  in  the  fluent  and  copious  vein  of  mild 
satire  and  milder  moralising  which  Crabbe  from 
earliest  youth  had  so  assiduously  practised.  If  a  few 
lines  arc  needed  as  a  sample,  the  following  will  show 
that  the  methods  of  literary  putting  are  not  so  original 
to-day  as  might  be  supposed.  After  indicating  the 
tiadesman's  ingenuity  in  this  respect,  the  poet  adds : — 

"  These  are  the  arts  by  which  a  thousand  live. 
Where  Truth  may  smile,  and  Justice  may  forgive  : 
But  when,  amid  this  rabl)le-rout,  we  find 
A  puffing  poet,  to  his  honour  blind  : 
Who  slily  drops  quotations  all  aljout 
Packet  or  Post,  and  points  their  merit  out ; 
W^ho  advertises  what  reviewers  say, 
With  sham  editions  every  second  day  ; 
Who  dares  not  trust  his  praises  out  of  sight, 
But  hurries  into  fame  with  all  his  might ; 
Although  the  verse  some  transient  praise  obtains, 
Contempt  is  all  the  anxious  poet  gains." 

The  Newspaper  seems  to  have  been  coldly  received 
by  the  critics,  who  had  perhaps  been  led  by  The  Village 
to  expect  something  very  diflferent,  and  Crabbe  never 
returned  to  the  satirical-didactic  line.  Indeed,  for 
twenty-two  years  he  published  nothing  more,  although 
he  wrote  contiiniously,  and  as  regularly  committed  the 
bulk  of  his  manuscript  to  the  domestic  fire-place. 
Meantime  he  lived  a  happy  countrj'^  life  at  Stathern, 
studying  botany,  reading  aloud  to  his  \nic,  and  by  no 
means  forgetting  the  wants  of  his  poor  parishioners. 
He  visited  periodically  his  Dorsetshire  livings,  introduc- 
ing his  wife  on  one  such  occasion,  as  he  passed  through 
London,  to  the  Biu'kes,     And  one  day,  seized  with  an 


64  CRABBE  [chap. 

acute  attack  of  the  nuil  du  ])ay%  lie  rode  sixty  miles  to 
the  coast  of  Lincolnshire  that  he  might  once  more 
"dip,"  as  his  son  expresses  it,  "in  the  waves  that 
washed  the  beach  of  Aldeburgh." 

In  October  1787,  Crabbe's  household  were  startled 
by  the  news  of  the  death  of  his  friend  and  patron  the 
Duke  of  Rutland,  who  died  at  the  Vice-regal  Lodge  at 
Dublin,  after  a  short  illness,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty- 
three.  The  duke,  an  open-handed  man  and  renowned 
for  his  extravagant  hospitalities,  had  lived  "not  wisely 
but  too  well."  Crabbe  assisted  at  the  funeral  at  Belvoir, 
and  duly  published  his  discourse  then  delivered  in 
handsome  quarto.  Shortly  after,  the  duchess,  anxious 
to  retain  their  former  chaplain  in  the  neighbourhood, 
gave  Crabbe  a  letter  to  Thurlow,  asking  him  to  ex- 
change the  two  livings  in  Dorsetshire  for  two  other,  of 
more  value,  in  the  Vale  of  Belvoir.  Crabbe  waited  on 
the  Chancellor  with  the  letter,  but  Thurlow  was,  or 
affected  to  be,  annoyed  by  the  request.  It  was  a  thing, 
he  exclaimed  with  an  oath,  that  he  would  not  do  "for 
any  man  in  England."  However,  when  the  young  and 
beautiful  duchess  later  appealed  to  him  in  person,  he 
relented,  and  presented  Crabbe  to  the  two  livings  of 
Muston  in  Leicestershire,  and  Allington  in  Lincoln- 
shire, both  within  sight  of  Belvoir  Castle,  and  (as  the 
crow  flies)  not  much  more  than  a  mile  apart.  To  the 
rectory  house  of  Muston,  Crabbe  brought  his  family 
in  February  1789.  His  connection  with  the  two 
livings  was  to  extend  over  five  and  twenty  years,  but 
during  thirteen  of  these  years,  as  will  be  seen,  he  was 
a  non-resident.  For  the  present  he  remained  three 
years  at  the  small  and  very  retired  village  of  Muston, 
about  five  miles    from    Grantham.      "The  house    in 


IV.]  AT  MUSTON  05 

which  Crabbc  lived  at  Mustoii,"  writes  Mr.  Hutton,^ 
"is  now  pulled  down.  It  is  replaced  by  one  built 
higher  up  a  slight  hill,  in  a  position  intended,  .says 
scandal,  to  prevent  any  view  of  Belvoir.  Crabbe  with 
all  his  ironies  had  no  such  resentful  feelings;  indeed 
more  modern  successors  of  his  have  opened  what  he 
would  have  called  a  '  vista,'  and  the  castle  again  crowns 
the  distance  as  you  look  southward  from  the  pretty 
garden." 

Crabbe's  first  three  years  of  residence  at  Muston 
were  marked  by  few  incidents.  Another  son,  Edmund, 
was  born  in  the  autumn  of  1790,  and  a  few  weeks 
later  a  series  of  visits  were  paid  by  Crabbe,  his  wife 
and  elder  boy,  to  their  relations  at  Aldeburgh, 
Parham,  and  Beccles,  from  which  latter  town,  accord- 
ing to  Crabbe's  son,  they  visited  Lowestoft,  and 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  the  aged  John  Wesley 
preach,  on  a  memorable  occasion  when  he  quoted 
Anacreon : — 

"  Oft  am  I  by  women  told, 
Poor  Anacreon  !  thou  grow'st  old. 


Bnt  this  I  need  not  to  be  told, 
'Tis  time  to  live,  if  I  grow  old." 

In  1792  Crabbe  preached  at  the  bishop's  visitation  at 
Grantham,  and  his  sermon  was  so  much  admired  that 
he  was  invited  to  receive  into  his  house  as  pupils  the 
sons  of  the  Earl  of  Bute.  This  task,  however,  Crabbe 
rightly  declined,  being  diffident  as  to  his  scholarship. 

^  See  a  pleasant  paper  on  Crabbe  at  jNIuston  and  AUington 
by  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Hutton  of  St.  John's  College,  Oxford,  in 
the  Comhill  Magazine  for  June  1901. 

£ 


66  CRABBE  [chap. 

In  October  of  this  year  Crabbe  was  again  working 
hard  at  his  botany — for  like  the  Friar  in  Borneo  and 
Juliet  his  time  was  alwaj^s  much  divided  between  the 
counselling  of  young  couples  and  the  "culling  of 
simples" — when  his  household  received  the  tidings 
of  the  death  of  John  Tovell  of  Parham,  after  a  brief 
illness.  It  was  momentous  news  to  Crabbe's  family, 
for  it  involved  " good  gifts,"  and  many  "possibilities." 
Crabbe  was  left  executor,  and  as  Mr.  Tovell  had  died 
without  children,  the  estate  fell  to  his  two  sisters, 
Mrs.  Elmy  and  an  elderly  spinster  sister  residing  in 
Parham.  As  Mrs.  Elmy's  share  of  the  estate  would 
come  to  her  children,  and  as  the  unmarried  sister 
died  not  long  after,  leaving  her  portion  in  the  same 
direction,  Crabbe's  anxiety  for  the  pecuniary  future 
of  his  family  was  at  an  end.  He  visited  Parham  on 
executor's  business,  and  on  his  return  found  that  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  "to  place  a  curate  at  Muston, 
and  to  go  and  reside  at  Parham,  taking  the  charge  of 
some  church  in  that  neighbourhood." 

Crabbe's  son,  with  the  admirable  frankness  that 
marks  his  memoir  throughout,  does  not  conceal  that 
this  step  in  his  father's  life  was  a  mistake,  and  that  he 
recognised  and  regretted  it  as  such  on  cooler  reflection. 
The  comfortable  home  of  the  Tovells  at  Parham  fell 
somehow,  whether  by  the  will,  or  by  arrangement 
with  Mrs.  Elmy,  to  the  disposal  of  Crabbe,  and  he  was 
obviously  tempted  by  its  ampler  room  and  pleasant 
surroundings.  He  would  be  once  more  among  rela- 
tives and  acquaintances,  and  a  social  circle  congenial  to 
himself  and  his  wife.  Muston  must  have  been  very 
dull  and  lonely,  except  for  those  on  visiting  terms  with 
the  duke  and   other  county  magnates.      Moreover  it 


IV.]  AT  MUSTON  67 

is  likely  that  the  relations  of  Crabbe  ■with  his  village 
flock  were  already — as  we  know  they  were  at  a  later 
date — somewhat  strained.  Let  it  be  said  once  for  all 
that  judged  by  the  standards  of  clerical  obligation 
current  in  1792,  Crabbe  Avas  then,  and  remained  all 
his  life,  in  many  important  respects,  a  diligent  parish- 
priest,  Mr.  Hutton  justly  remarks  that  "  the  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  life  of  the  poor  which  his  poems  show 
proves  how  constantly  ho  must  have  visited,  no  less 
than  how  closely  he  must  have  observed."  But  the 
fact  remains  that  though  he  was  kind  and  helpful  to 
his  flock  while  among  them  in  sickness  and  in  trouble 
— their  physician  as  well  as  their  spiritual  adviser — his 
ideas  as  to  clerical  absenteeism  were  those  of  his  age, 
and  moreover  his  preaching  to  the  end  of  his  life  was 
not  of  a  kind  to  arouse  much  interest  or  zeal.  I  have 
had  access  to  a  large  packet  of  his  manuscript  sermons, 
preached  during  his  residence  in  Suffolk  and  later,  as 
proved  by  the  endorsements  on  the  cover,  at  his 
various  incumbencies  in  Leicestershire  and  Wiltshire. 
They  consist  of  plain  and  formal  explanations  of  his 
text,  reinforced  by  other  texts,  entirely  orthodox  but 
unrelieved  by  any  resource  in  the  way  of  illustra- 
tion, or  by  any  of  those  poetic  touches  which  his 
published  verse  shows  he  had  at  his  command.  A 
sermon  lies  before  me,  preached  first  at  Great 
Glemham  in  1801,  and  afterwards  at  Little  Glem- 
ham,  Sweffling,  Muston,  and  Allington ;  at  Trow- 
bridge in  1820,  and  again  at  Trowbridge  in 
1830.  The  preacher  probably  held  his  discourses 
quite  as  profitable  at  one  stage  in  the  Church's 
development  as  at  another.  In  this  estimate  of 
clerical  responsibilities  Crabbe  seems  to  have  remained 


68  CRABBE  [chap. 

stationary.  But  meantime  the  laity  had  been  aroused 
to  expect  better  things.  The  ferment  of  the  Wesley 
and  Whitefield  Revival  was  spreading  slowly  but 
surely  even  among  the  remote  \allages  of  England. 
What  Crabbc  and  the  bulk  of  the  parochial  clergy 
called  "  a  sober  and  rational  conversion "  seemed  to 
those  who  had  fallen  under  the  fervid  influence  of  the 
great  Methodist  a  savourless  and  ineflectual  formality. 
The  extravagances  of  the  Movement  had  indeed 
travelled  everywhere  in  company  with  its  worthier 
fruits.  Enthusiasm, — "an  excellent  good  word  until 
it  was  ill-sorted," — found  vent  in  various  shapes  that 
were  justly  feared  and  suspected  by  many  of  the 
clergy,  even  by  those  to  whom  "a  reasonable  religion" 
was  far  from  being  "so  very  reasonable  as  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  heart  and  affections."  It  was 
not  only  the  Moderates  who  saw  its  danger.  Wesley 
himself  had  found  it  necessary  to  caution  his  more 
impetuous  followers  against  its  eccentricities.  And 
Joseph  Butler  preaching  at  the  Rolls  Chapel  on  "  the 
Love  of  God "  thought  it  well  to  explain  that  in  his 
use  of  the  phrase  there  was  nothing  "  enthusiastical." 
But  as  one  mischievous  extreme  generates  another,  the 
influence  of  the  prejudice  against  enthusiasm  became 
disastrous,  and  the  word  came  too  often  to  be  con- 
founded with  any  and  every  form  of  religious  fervency 
and  earnestness.  To  the  end  of  his  days  Crabbe,  like 
many  another,  regarded  sobriety  and  moderation  in 
the  expression  of  religious  feeling  as  not  only  its  chief 
safeguard  but  its  chief  ornament.  It  may  seem 
strange  that  the  poetic  temperament  which  Crabbe 
certainly  possessed  never  seemed  to  affect  his  views  of 
life  and    human   nature  outside  the  fields  of    poetic 


IV.]  AT  MUSTON  69 

composition.  Ho  was  notiibl}'  indifferent,  his  son  tells 
us,  "  to  almost  all  the  proper  objects  of  taste.  He  had 
no  real  love  for  painting,  or  music,  or  architecture,  or 
for  what  a  painter's  eye  considers  as  the  beauties  of 
landscape.  But  he  had  a  passion  for  science — the 
science  of  the  human  mind,  first ;  then,  that  of  nature 
in  general ;  and  lastly  that  of  abstract  qualities." 

If  the  defects  here  indicated  help  to  explain  some  of 
those  in  his  poetry,  they  may  also  throw  light  on  a 
certain  lack  of  imagination  in  Crabbe's  dealings  \vith 
his  fellow-men  in  general  and  wdth  his  parishioners  in 
particular.  His  temperament  was  somewhat  tactless 
and  masterful,  and  he  could  never  easily  place  himself 
at  the  stand-point  of  those  who  differed  from  him. 
The  use  of  his  imagination  was  mainly  confined  to  the 
hours  in  his  study ;  and  while  there,  if  he  had  his 
^' beaux  moment^"  he  had  also  his  ^'mauvais  quarts 
d'/ieure." 

Perhaps  if  he  had  brought  a  little  imagination  to 
bear  upon  his  relations  with  Muston  and  Allington, 
Crabbe  would  not  have  deserted  his  people  so  soon 
after  coming  among  them.  The  step  made  him  many 
enemies.  For  here  was  no  case  of  a  poor  curate 
accepting,  for  his  family's  sake,  a  more  lucrative  post. 
Crabbe  was  leaving  the  Vale  of  Belvoir  because  an 
accession  of  fortune  had  befallen  the  family,  and  it 
was  pleasanter  to  live  in  his  native  county  and  in  a 
better  house.  So,  at  least,  his  action  was  interpreted 
at  the  time,  and  Crabbe's  son  takes  no  very  dilTerent 
view.  "Though  tastes  and  affections,  as  well  as 
worldly  interests,  prompted  this  return  to  native 
scenes  and  early  acquaintances,  it  was  a  step  re- 
luctantly taken,  and  I  believe,  sincerely  repented  of. 


70  CRABBE  [CHAP.  IV. 

The  beginning  was  ominous.  As  we  were  slowly 
quittin.g  the  phice  preceded  by  our  furniture,  a 
stranger,  though  one  who  knew  my  father's  circum- 
stances, called  out  in  an  impressive  tone,  'You  are 
wrong,  you  are  wrong  ! '  "  The  sound,  he  afterwards 
admitted,  found  an  echo  in  his  own  conscience,  and 
during  the  whole  journey  seemed  to  ring  in  his  ears 
"like  a  supernatural  voice." 


CHAPTER   V 

IN   SUFFOLK  AGAIN 

(1792-1805) 

On  the  arrival  of  the  family  at  Parham,  poor  Crahhe 
discovered  that  even  an  accession  of  fortune  had  its 
attendant  drawbacks.  His  son,  George,  records  his 
own  recollections  (he  was  then  a  child  of  seven  years) 
of  the  scene  that  met  their  view  on  their  alighting  at 
Parham  Lodge.  "As  I  got  out  of  the  chaise,  I  re- 
member jumping  for  very  joy,  and  exclaiming,  '  Here 
we  are,  here  we  are — little  Willy  and  all ! ' " — (his 
parents'  seventh  and  youngest  child,  then  only  a  few 
weeks  old) — "but  my  spirits  sunk  into  dismay  Avhen, 
on  entering  the  well-known  kitchen,  all  there  seemed 
desolate,  dreary,  and  silent.  Mrs.  Tovell  and  her 
sister-in-law,  sitting  by  the  fireside  weeping,  did  not 
even  rise  up  to  welcome  my  parents,  but  uttered  a 
few  chilling  words  and  wept  again.  All  this  appeared 
to  me  as  inexplicable  as  forbidding.  How  little  do 
children  dream  of  the  alterations  that  elder  people's 
feelings  towards  each  other  undergo,  when  death  has 
caused  a  transfer  of  propei-ty  !  Our  anival  in  Suffolk 
was  by  no  means  palata))lc  to  all  my  mother's  relations." 
Mr.  Tovell's  Avidow  had  doubtless  her  suitable  join- 
ture, and  probably  a  modest  dower-residence  to  retire 
to ;  but  Parham  Hall  had  to  be  vacated,  and  Crabbe, 

71 


72  CRABBE  [chap. 

having  purchased  its  furniture,  at  once  entered  on 
possession.  The  mere  re-arrangement  of  the  contents 
caused  many  heartburnings  to  the  spinster-sister, 
who  had  known  them  under  the  old  regime,  and  the 
alteration  of  the  hanging  of  a  picture  would  have 
made  "Jacky,"  she  averred,  to  turn  in  his  grave. 
Crabbe  seems,  however,  to  have  shown  so  much  good- 
feeling  and  forbearance  in  the  matter  that  the  old 
lady,  after  grimly  boasting  that  she  could  "screw 
Crabbe  up  and  down  like  a  fiddle,"  was  ultimately 
friendly,  and  her  share  of  her  brother's  estate  came 
in  due  course  to  Crabbe  and  his  wife.  Moreover,  the 
change  of  tenancy  at  the  Hall  was  anything  but  satis- 
factory to  the  village  generally.  Mr.  Tovell  had  been 
much  given  to  hospitality,  and  that  of  a  convivial  sort. 
Such  of  the  neighbours  as  were  of  kindred  tastes  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  "  dropping  in  "  of  an  evening  two 
or  three  times  a  week,  when,  if  a  quorum  was  present,  a 
bowl  of  punch  would  be  brewed,  and  sometimes  a  second 
and  a  third.  The  substitution  for  all  this  of  the  quiet 
and  decorous  family  life  of  the  Crabbes  was  naturally 
a  heavy  blow  and  grave  discouragement  to  the  village 
reveller,  and  contributed  to  make  Crabbe's  life  at 
starting  far  from  happy.  His  pursuits  and  inclinations, 
literary  as  well  as  clerical,  made  such  company  dis- 
tasteful; and  his  wife,  who  had  borne  him  seven 
children  in  nine  years,  and  of  these  had  lost  four  in 
infancy,  had  little  strength  or  heart  for  miscellaneous 
company.  But  there  was  compensation  for  her  husband 
among  the  county  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
notably  in  the  constant  kindness  of  Dudley  North,  of 
Little  Glcmham  Hall,  the  same  friend  Avho  had  helped 
him  ^vith  money  when  twelve  years   before   he   had 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AGAIN  73 

left  Aldcburgh,  lui  almost  peiiuiless  udvcriliucr,  tx) 
try  his  fortune  in  London.  At  Mr.  North's  table 
Crabbe  had  once  more  the  opportunity  of  meeting 
members  of  the  Whig  party,  whom  he  had  known 
through  Burke.  On  one  such  occasion  Fox  expressed 
his  regret  that  Crabbe  had  ceased  to  write,  and  offered 
his  help  in  revising  any  future  poem  that  he  might 
produce.  The  promise  was  not  foigottcn  when  ten 
years  later  The  Parish  RegiMer  was  in  preparation. 

During  his  first  year  at  Parham,  Crabbe  does  not 
appear  to  have  undertaken  any  fixed  clerical  duties, 
and  this  interval  of  leisure  allowed  him  to  pay  a  long 
visit  to  his  sister  at  Aldeburgh,  and  here  he  placed 
his  two  elder  boys,  George  and  John,  at  a  dame 
school.  On  returning  to  Parham,  he  accepted  the 
office  of  curate-in-charge  at  Sweffling,  the  rector, 
Kev.  Eichard  Turner,  being  resident  at  his  other 
living  of  Great  Yarmouth.  The  curacy  of  Great 
Glemham,  also  Avithin  easy  reach,  was  shortly  added. 
Crabbe  was  still  residing  at  Parham  Lodge,  but  the 
incidents  of  such  residence  remained  far  from  pleasant, 
and,  after  four  years  there,  Crabbe  joyfully  accepted  the 
offer  of  a  good  house  at  Great  Glemham,  placed  at  his 
disposal  by  his  friend  Dudley  North.  Here  the  family 
remained  for  a  further  period  of  four  or  five  years. 

A  fresh  bereavement  in  his  family  had  made  Crabbe 
additionally  anxious  for  change  of  scene  and  associations 
for  his  wife.  In  1796,  another  child  died — their  third 
son,  Edmund — in  his  sixth  year.  Two  children,  out  of 
a  family  of  seven,  alone  remained ;  and  this  final  blow 
proved  more  than  the  poor  mother  could  bear  unin- 
jured. From  this  time  dated  "a  nervous  disorder," 
which  indeed  meant  a  gradual  decay  of  mental  power, 


74  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

from  which  she  never  recovered ;  and  Crabbe,  an  ever- 
devoted  husband,  tended  her  with  exemplary  care 
till  her  death  in  1813.  Southey,  writing  about  Crabbe 
to  his  friend,  Neville  White,  in  1808,  adds:  "It  was 
not  long  before  his  wife  became  deranged,  and  when 
all  this  was  told  me  by  one  who  knew  him  well,  five 
years  ago,  he  Avas  still  almost  confined  in  his  own 
house,  anxiously  waiting  upon  this  wife  in  her  long 
and  hopeless  malady.  A  sad  history  !  It  is  no  wonder 
that  he  gives  so  melancholy  a  picture  of  human  life." 

Save  for  Mrs.  Crabbe's  broken  health  and  increasing 
melancholy,  the  four  years  at  Glemham  Avere  among 
the  most  peaceful  and  happiest  of  Crabbe's  life.  His 
son  grows  eloquent  over  the  elegance  of  the  house  and 
the  natural  beauties  of  its  situation.  "  A  small  well- 
wooded  park  occupied  the  whole  mouth  of  the  glen, 
whence,  doubtless,  the  name  of  the  village  was  derived. 
In  the  lowest  ground  stood  the  commodious  mansion ; 
the  approach  wound  down  through  a  plantation  on  the 
eminence  in  front.  The  opposite  hill  rose  at  the  back 
of  it,  rich  and  varied  with  trees  and  shrubs  scattered 
irregularly ;  under  this  southern  hill  ran  a  brook,  and 
on  the  banks  above  it  Avere  spots  of  great  natural 
beauty,  croAvned  by  Avhitethorn  and  oak.  Here  the 
purple  scented  violet  perfumed  the  air,  and  in  one 
place  coloured  the  ground.  On  the  left  of  the  front 
in  the  narrower  portion  of  the  glen  Avas  the  village ; 
on  the  right,  a  confined  view  of  richly  wooded  fields. 
In  fact,  the  whole  parish  and  neighbourhood  resemble 
a  combination  of  groves,  interspersed  with  fields  culti- 
vated like  gardens,  and  intersected  Avith  those  green 
dry  lanes  which  tempt  the  walker  in  all  weathers, 
especially  in  the  evenings,  Avhen  in  the  short  grass  of 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AfiAIN  75 

the  dry  Kundy  hanks  hcs  every  few  yards  a  ghjwwonn, 
and  the  nightingales  are  pouring  forth  their  melody  in 
every  direction," 

It  was  not,  therefore,  for  lack  of  acquaintance  with 
the  more  idyllic  side  of  English  country-life  that  Crabbe, 
when  he  once  more  addressed  the  public  in  verse, 
turned  to  the  less  sunny  memories  of  his  youth  for 
inspiration.  It  was  not  till  some  years  after  the 
appearance  of  The  Parish  Register  and  The  Borough  that 
the  pleasant  paths  of  inland  Suffolk  and  of  the  Vale 
of  Belvoir  formed  the  background  to  his  studies  in 
human  character. 

Meantime  Crabbe  was  perpetually  writing,  and  as 
constantly  destroying  M-hat  he  wrote.  His  small  flock 
at  Great  and  Little  Glemham  employed  part  of  his 
time;  the  education  of  his  two  sons,  who  were  now 
withdrawn  from  school,  occupied  some  more;  and  a 
>vife  in  failing  health  was  certainly  not  neglected. 
But  the  busy  husband  and  father  found  time  to  teach 
himself  something  of  French  and  Italian,  and  read 
aloud  to  his  family  of  an  evening  as  many  l)ooks  of 
travel  and  of  fiction  as  his  friends  would  keep  him 
supplied  with.  He  was  preparing  at  the  same  time 
a  treatise  on  botany,  which  Avas  never  to  see  the  light ; 
and  during  "one  or  two  of  his  winters  in  Suffolk,"  his 
son  relates,  "  he  gave  most  of  his  evening  hours  to  the 
writing  of  novels,  and  he  brought  not  less  than  three 
such  works  to  a  conclusion.  The  first  was  entitled 
'The  Widow  Grey,'  ])ut  I  recollect  nothing  of  it  except 
that  the  principal  character  was  a  benevolent  humorist, 
a  Dr.  Allison.  The  next  was  called  'Keginald  Glan- 
shaw,  or  the  Man  who  commanded  Success,'  a  portrait 
of  an  assuming,  over-bearing,  ambitious  mind,  rendered 


76  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

interesting  by  some  generous  virtues,  and  gradually 
wearing  down  into  idiotism.  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  this  Glanshaw  was  drawn  with  very  extraordinary 
power;  but  the  story  was  not  well  managed  in  the 
details.  I  forget  the  title  of  his  third  novel;  but  I 
clearly  remember  that  it  opened  with  a  description  of  a 
•wretched  room,  similar  to  some  that  are  presented  in  his 
poetry,  and  that  on  my  mother's  telling  him  frankly 
that  she  thought  the  effect  very  inferior  to  that  of  the 
corresponding  pieces  in  verse,  he  paused  in  his  reading, 
and  after  some  reflection,  said,  'Your  remark  is  just.'" 
Mrs.  Crabbe's  remark  was  probably  very  just.  Al- 
though her  husband  had  many  qualifications  for  writing 
prose  fiction — insight  into  and  appreciation  of  char- 
acter, combined  with  much  tiugic  force  and  a  real  gift 
for  description — there  is  reason  to  think  that  he  would 
have  been  stilted  and  artificial  in  dialogue,  and  alto- 
gether wanting  in  lightness  of  hand.  Crabbe  acquiesced 
in  his  wife's  decision,  and  the  novels  were  cremated 
without  a  murmur.  A  somewhat  similar  fate  attended 
a  set  of  Tales  in  Verse  which,  in  the  year  1799,  Crabbe 
was  about  to  oflFer  to  Mr,  Hatohard,  the  publisher, 
when  he  wisely  took  the  opinion  of  his  rector  at  Sweff- 
ling,  then  resident  at  Yarmouth,  the  Eev.  Eichard 
Turner.  1  This  gentleman,  whose  opinion  Crabbe  greatly 
valued,  advised  revision,  and  Crabbe  accepted  the  verdict 
as  the  reverse  of  encouraging.     The  Tales  were  never 

^  Richard  Turner  of  Yarmouth  was  a  man  of  considerable 
culture,  and  belonged  to  a  family  of  scholars.  His  eldest 
brother  was  Master  of  Pembroke,  Cambridge,  and  Dean  of 
Norwich :  his  youngest  son  was  Sir  Charles  Turner,  a  Lord 
Justice  of  Appeal ;  and  Dawson  Turner  was  his  nephew. 
Richard  Turner  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Dr.  Parr,  Paley, 
and  Canning. 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AGAIN  77 

published,  and  Crabbe  again  deferred  his  reappear- 
ance in  print  for  a  period  of  eight  years.  Meantime 
lie  applied  himself  to  the  leisurely  composition  of  the 
Parish  lirgister,  which  extended,  together  with  that  of 
some  shorter  poems,  over  the  period  just  named. 

In  the  last  years  of  the  eighteenth  century  there  was 
a  sudden  awakening  among  the  bishops  to  the  growing 
abuse  of  non-residence  and  pluralities  on  the  part  of 
the  clergy.  One  prelate  of  distinction  devoted  his 
triennial  charge  to  the  subject,  and  a  general  "  stiffen- 
ing" of  episcopal  good  nature  set  in  all  round.  The 
Bishop  of  Lincoln  addressed  Crabl)e,  vnih  others  of 
his  delinquent  clergy,  and  intimated  to  him  very  dis- 
tinctly the  duty  of  returning  to  those  few  sheep  in 
the  wilderness  at  Muston  and  Allington.  Crabbe, 
in  much  distress,  applied  to  his  friend  Dudley  North 
to  use  influence  on  his  behalf  to  obtain  extension  of 
leave.  But  the  bishop.  Dr.  Pretyman  (Pitt's  tutor 
and  friend — better  known  by  the  name  he  afterwards 
adopted  of  Tomline)  would  not  yield,  and  it  was  pro- 
bably owing  to  pressure  from  some  different  quarter 
that  Crabbe  succeeded  in  obtaining  leave  of  absence 
for  four  years  longer.  Dudley  North  would  fain  have 
solved  the  problem  by  giving  Crabbe  one  or  more  of 
the  livings  in  his  own  gift  in  Suffolk,  but  none  of 
adequate  value  was  vacant  at  the  time.  Meanwhile, 
the  house  rented  by  Crabbe,  Great  Glemham  Hall,  was 
sold  over  Crabbc's  head,  by  family  arrangements  in  the 
North  family,  and  he  made  his  last  move  while  in 
Suffolk,  l)y  taking  a  house  in  the  neighboiu'ing  village 
of  Rendham,  where  he  remained  during  his  last  four 
years.  Crabbe  was  looking  forward  to  his  elder  son's 
going  up  to  Cambridge  in  1803,  and  this  formed  an 


78  CRABBE  [CHAP, 

additional   reason  for  \\nsliing   to   remain   as  long  as 
might  be  in  the  eastern  counties. 

The  writing  of  poetry  seems  to  have  gone  on  apace. 
Tlie  Parish  Eegister  was  all  but  completed  while  at 
Rendham,  and  The  Borough  -was  also  begun.  After 
so  long  an  abstinence  from  the  glory  of  print,  Crabbe 
at  last  found  the  required  stimulus  to  ambition  in  the 
need  of  some  further  income  for  his  two  sons'  educa- 
tion. But  during  the  last  winter  of  his  residence  at 
Rendham  (1804-1 805),  Crabbe  produced  a  poem,  in 
stanzas,  of  very  different  character  and  calibre  from 
anything  he  had  yet  written,  and  as  to  the  origin  of 
which  one  must  go  back  to  some  previous  incidents 
in  Crabbe's  history.  His  son  is  always  lax  as  to  dates, 
and  often  just  at  those  periods  when  they  would  be 
the  most  welcome.  It  may  be  inferred,  however,  that 
at  some  date  between  1790  and  1792  Crabbe  suffered 
from  serious  derangements  of  his  digestion,  attended 
by  sudden  and  acute  attacks  of  vertigo.  The  passage 
in  the  memoir  as  to  the  exact  period  is  more  than 
usually  vague.  The  writer  is  dealing  with  the  year 
1800,  and  he  proceeds  : 

"My  father,  now  about  his  forty-sixth  year,  was  much 
more  stout  and  healthy  than  when  I  first  remember  him. 
Soon  after  that  early  period  he  became  subject  to  vertigoes, 
which  he  thought  indicative  of  a  tendency  to  apoplexy  ;  and 
was  occasionally  bled  rather  profusely,  which  only  increased 
the  symptoms.  When  he  preached  his  first  sermon  at  Muston 
in  the  year  1789  my  mother  foreboded,  as  she  afterwards  told 
us,  that  he  would  preach  very  few  more  :  but  it  was  on  one 
of  his  early  journeys  into  Suffolk,  in  passing  through  Ipswich, 
that  he  had  the  most  alarming  attack." 

This  account  of  matters  is  rather  mixed.  The  "  early 
period  "  pointed  to  by  young  Crabbe  is  that  at  which 


v.l  IN  SUFFOLK  AGAIN  79 

he  himself  first  had  distinct  recollection  of  his  father, 
and  his  doings.  Putting  that  age  at  six  years  old, 
the  year  would  be  1791 ;  and  it  may  be  inferred  that 
as  the  whole  family  paid  a  visit  of  many  months 
to  Suffolk  in  the  year  1790,  it  was  during  that  visit 
that  he  had  the  decisive  attack  in  the  streets  of 
Ipswich.  The  account  may  be  continued  in  the  son's 
own  words : — 

"  Having  left  my  mother  at  the  inn,  he  walked  into  the 
town  alone,  and  suddenly  staggered  in  the  street,  and  fell. 
He  was  lifted  up  by  the  passengers  "  (probably  from  the  stage- 
coach from  which  they  had  just  alighted),  "  and  ovei-heard 
some  one  say  significantly,  '  Let  the  gentleman  alone,  he  will 
be  better  by  and  by ' ;  for  his  fall  was  attributed  to  the 
bottle.  He  was  assisted  to  his  room,  and  the  late  Dr.  Clubbe 
was  sent  for,  who,  after  a  little  examination,  saw  through  the 
case  with  great  judgment.  '  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with 
your  head,'  he  observed,  '  nor  any  apoplectic  tendency  ;  let 
the  digestive  organs  bear  the  whole  blame  :  you  nmst  take 
opiates.'  From  that  time  his  health  began  to  amend  rapidly, 
and  his  constitution  was  renovated  ;  a  rare  efl'ect  of  opium, 
for  that  drug  almost  always  inflicts  some  partial  injury,  even 
when  it  is  necessary  ;  but  to  him  it  was  only  salutary — and 
to  a  constant  but  slightly  increasing  dose  of  it  may  be  attri- 
buted his  long  and  generally  healthy  life." 

The  son  makes  no  reference  to  any  possible  effects 
of  this  "slightly  increasing  dose"  upon  his  father's 
intellect  or  imagination.  And  the  ordinary  reader 
who  knows  the  poet  mainly  through  his  sober  couplets 
may  well  be  surprised  to  hear  that  their  author  was 
ever  addicted  to  the  opium-habit;  still  more,  that 
his  imagination  ever  owed  anything  to  its  stimulus. 
But  in  FitzGerald's  copy  there  is  a  MS.  note,  not 
signed  "G.  C,"  and  therefore  FitzGerald's  own.      It 


80  CRABBE  [chap. 

runs  thus  :  "It"  (the  opium)  " probably  influenced  his 
dreams,  for  better  or  worse."  To  this  FitzC4erald  signi- 
ficantly adds,  "  see  also  the  World  of  Dreams,  and  Sir 
Eustace  G^rey." 

As  Crabbe  is  practically  unknown  to  the  readers  of 
the  present  day,  Sir  Eustace  Grey  will  be  hardly  even 
a  name  to  them.  For  it  lies,  Anth  two  or  three  other 
noticeable  poems,  quite  out  of  the  familiar  track  of  his 
narrative  verse.  In  the  first  place  it  is  in  stanzas,  and 
Avhat  Browning  would  have  classed  as  a  "Dramatic 
Lyric."  The  subject  is  as  follows  :  The  scene  "  a  Mad- 
house," and  the  persons  a  Visitor,  a  Physician,  and  a 
Patient.  The  visitor  has  been  shown  over  the  estab- 
lishment, and  is  on  the  point  of  departing  weary  and 
depressed  at  the  sight  of  so  much  misery,  when  the 
physician  begs  him  to  stay  as  they  come  in  sight  of  the 
"cell"  of  a  specially  interesting  patient.  Sir  Eustace 
Grey,  late  of  Greyling  Hall.  Sir  Eustace  greets  them 
as  they  approach,  plunges  at  once  into  monologue, 
and  relates  (with,  occasional  warnings  from  the  doctor 
against  over-excitement)  the  sad  story  of  his  mis- 
fortunes and  consequent  loss  of  reason  He  begins 
with  a  description  of  his  happier  days  : — 

"  Some  twenty  years,  I  think,  are  gone 

(Time  flies,  I  know  not  how,  away). 
The  sun  upon  no  haj^pier  shone 

Nor  prouder  man,  than  Eustace  Grey. 
Ask  where  you  would,  and  all  would  say, 

The  man  admired  and  praised  of  all, 
By  rich  and  poor,  by  grave  and  gay. 

Was  the  young  lord  of  Greyling  Hall. 

"  Yes  !  I  had  youth  and  rosy  health, 

Was  nobly  formed,  as  man  might  be  ; 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AGAIN  81 

For  sickness,  then,  of  all  my  wealth, 

I  never  f^ave  a  single  fee  : 
The  ladies  fair,  the  maidens  free, 

Were  all  accustomed  then  to  say, 
Who  would  a  handsome  figure  see, 

Should  look  upon  Sir  Eustace  Grey. 

*'  My  lady  ! — She  was  all  we  love  ; 

All  praise,  to  speak  her  worth,  is  faint ; 
Her  manners  show'd  the  yielding  dove. 

Her  morals,  the  seraphic  saint : 
She  never  breathed  nor  looked  complaint  ; 

No  equal  upon  earth  had  she  : 
Now,  what  is  this  fair  thing  I  paint  ? 

Alas  !  as  till  that  live  shall  be. 

"  There  were  two  cherub-things  beside, 

A  gracious  girl,  a  glorious  boy  ; 
Yet  more  to  swell  my  full-blown  pride, 

To  varnish  higher  my  fading  joy, 
Pleasures  were  ours  without  alloy, 

Nay,  Paradise, — till  my  frail  Eve 
Our  bliss  was  tempted  to  destroy — 

Deceived,  and  fated  to  deceive. 

"  But  I  deserved  ; — for  all  that  time 

When  I  was  loved,  admired,  caressed, 
There  was  within  each  secret  crime, 

Unfelt,  uncancelled,  unconfessed  : 
I  never  then  my  God  addressed, 

In  grateful  praise  or  humble  prayer  ; 
And  if  His  Word  was  not  my  jest — 

(Dread  thought !)  it  never  was  my  care." 

The  misfortunes  of  tlie  unhappy  man  proceed  apace, 
and  blow  follows  blow.  He  is  unthankful  for  his 
blessings,  and  Heaven's  vengeance  descends  on  him. 
His  wife  proves  faithless,  ami  he  kills  her  betrayer, 

F 


82  CRABBE  [chap. 

once  his  trusted  friend.  The  wretched  woman  pines 
and  dies,  and  the  two  chihh'en  take  some  infectious 
disease  and  quickly  follow.  The  sufferer  turns  to  his 
wealth  and  his  ambitions  to  drug  his  memory.  But 
"walking  in  pride,"  he  is  to  be  still  further  "abased." 
The  "  Watcher  and  the  Holy  One  "  that  visited  Nebu- 
chadnezzar come  to  Sir  Eustace  in  vision  and  pro- 
nounce his  fate : 

"  Full  be  his  cup,  with  evil  fraught — 

Demons  his  guides,  and  death  his  doom." 

Two  fiends  of  darkness  arc  told  off  to  tempt  him. 
One,  presumably  the  Spirit  of  Gambling,  robs  him  of 
his  wealth,  while  the  Spirit  of  Mania  takes  from  him 
his  reason,  and  drags  him  through  a  hell  of  horriblest 
imaginings.  And  it  is  at  this  point  that  what  has 
been  called  the  "dream-scenery"  of  the  opium-eater 
is  reproduced  in  a  series  of  very  remarkable  stanzas  : 

"  Upon  that  boundless  plain,  below, 

The  setting  sun's  last  rays  were  shed, 
And  gave  a  iiiild  and  sober  glow, 

Where  all  were  still,  asleep,  or  dead  ; 
Vast  ruins  in  the  midst  were  spread, 

Pillars  and  pediments  sublime, 
Where  the  grey  moss  had  form'd  a  bed. 

And  clothed  the  crumbling  spoils  of  time. 

"  There  was  I  fix'd,  I  know  not  how, 

Condemn'd  for  untold  years  to  stay : 
Yet  years  were  not ; — one  dreadful  Noiv 

Endured  no  change  of  night  or  day ; 
The  same  mild  evening's  sleepy  ray 

Shone  softly-solemn  and  serene, 
And  all  that  time  I  gazed  away, 

The  setting  sun's  sad  rays  were  seen. 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AGAIN  83 

"  At  length  a  moment's  sleep  stole  on, — 

Again  came  my  commission'd  foes ; 
Again  through  sea  and  land  we  'ro  gone, 

No  peace,  no  respite,  no  repose : 
Above  the  dark  broad  sea  we  rose. 

We  ran  through  bleak  and  frozen  land ; 
I  had  no  strength  their  strength  t'  oppose, 

An  infant  in  a  giant's  hand. 

"They  placed  me  where  those  streamers  play. 

Those  nimble  beams  of  brilliant  light ; 
It  would  the  stoutest  heart  dismay, 

To  see,  to  feel,  that  dreadful  sight: 
So  swift,  so  pure,  so  cold,  so  bright. 

They  pierced  my  frame  with  icy  wound; 
And  all  that  half-year's  polar  night. 

Those  dancing  streamers  wrapp'd  me  round. 

"  Slowly  that  darkness  pass'd  away. 

When  down  upon  the  earth  I  fell, — 
Some  hurried  sleep  was  mine  by  day  ; 

But,  soon  as  toU'd  the  evening  bell, 
They  forced  me  on,  where  ever  dwell 

Far-distant  men  in  cities  fair. 
Cities  of  whom  no  travellers  tell. 

Nor  feet  but  mine  were  wanderers  there. 

"  Their  watchmen  stare,  and  stand  aghast, 

As  on  we  hurry  through  the  dark ; 
The  watch-light  blinks  as  we  go  past. 

The  watch-dog  shrinks  and  fears  to  bark ; 
The  watch-tower's  bell  sounds  shrill;  and,  hark  I 

The  free  wind  blows — we  've  left  the  town — 
A  wide  sepirlchral  ground  I  mark. 

And  on  a  tombstone  place  me  down. 

"  What  monuments  of  mighty  dead ! 

What  tombs  of  various  kind  are  found  ! 
And  stones  erect  their  shadows  shed 
On  humble  graves,  with  wickers  bound  ; 


84  CRABBE  [chap. 

Some  risen  fresh,  above  the  ground, 

Some  level  with  the  native  clay: 
What  sleeping  millions  wait  the  sound, 

'Arise,  ye  dead,  and  come  away  !' 

"  Alas  !  they  stay  not  for  that  call ; 

Spare  me  this  woe  !  ye  demons,  spare  !— 
They  come  !  the  shrouded  shadows  all, — 

'Tis  more  than  mortal  brain  can  bear ; 
Rustling  they  rise,  they  sternly  glare 

At  man  upheld  by  vital  breath ; 
Who,  led  by  wicked  fiends,  should  dare 

To  join  the  shadowy  troops  of  death  !" 

For  about  fifteen  stanzas  this  power  of  vi^ild  imagin- 
ings is  sustained,  and,  it  must  be  admitted,  at  a  high 
level  as  regards  diction.  The  reader  will  note 
first  how  the  impetuous  floAv  of  these  visionarj'-  re- 
collections generates  a  style  in  the  main  so  lofty 
and  so  strong.  The  poetic  diction  of  the  eighteenth 
centuiy,  against  which  Wordsworth  made  his  famous 
protest,  is  entirely  absent.  Then  again,  the  eight- 
line  stanza  is  something  quite  different  from  a  mere 
aggregate  of  quatrains  arranged  in  pairs.  The  lines 
are  knit  together,  sonnet-fashion,  by  the  device 
of  interlacing  the  rhymes,  the  second,  fourth,  fifth, 
and  seventh  lines  rhyming.  And  it  is  singularly 
effective  for  its  purpose,  that  of  avoiding  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  mere  ballad-measure,  and  carrying  on 
the  descriptive  action  with  as  little  interruption  as 
might  be. 

The  similarity  of  the  illusions,  here  attributed  to 
insanity,  to  those  described  by  De  Quincey  as  the 
result  of  opium,  is  too  marked  to  be  accidental.  In 
the  concluding  pages  of  his  Confessions,  De  Quincey 
writes :   "  The  sense  of  space,  and  in  the  end  the  sense 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  ACAIN  85 

of  time,  weio  l)Oth  powerfully  allceted.  Buildings, 
landscapes,  etc.,  were  exhibited  in  proportions  so  vast 
as  the  ])odily  eye  is  not  fitted  to  receive.  .  .  .  This 
disturbed  nic  very  much  less  than  the  vast  expansion 
of  time.  Sometimes  I  seemed  to  have  lived  for  seventy 
or  a  bundled  years  in  one  night." 
Compare  Crabbe's  suflferer: — 

"  There  was  I  fix'd,  I  know  not  how, 
Condemn'd  for  untold  yeai's  to  stay : 
Yet  years  were  not ; — one  dreadful  Noio 
Endured  no  change  of  night  or  day." 

Again,  the  rapid  transition  from  one  distant  land 
to  another,  from  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics,  is  common 
to  both  experiences.  The  "  ill-favoured  ones  "  who  are 
charged  with  Sir  Eustace's  expiation  fix  him  at  one 
moment 

"  — on  the  trembling  Ijall 
That  crowns  the  steeple's  quiv'ring  spire" 

just  as  the  Opium-Fiend  fixes  De  Quincey  for  centuries 
at  the  summit  of  Pagodas.  Sir  Eustace  is  accused  of 
sins  he  had  never  committed  : — 

" Harmless  I  was:  yet  hunted  down 
For  treasons  to  my  soul  inifit ; 
I  've  been  pursued  through  many  a  town 
For  crimes  that  petty  knaves  commit." 

Even  so  the  opium-eater  imagines  himself  fljing 
from  the  wrath  of  Oriental  Deities.  "  I  came  suddenly 
upon  Isis  and  Osiris:  I  had  done  a  deed,  they  said, 
which  the  Ibis  and  the  Crocodile  trcml)led  at."  The 
morbid  inspiration  is  clearly  the  same  in  both  cases, 
and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  Crabbe's  poem  owes 
its  inception  to  opium,  and  that  the  frame  work  was 
devised  by  him  for  the  utilisation  of  his  dreams. 


86  CRABBE  [chap. 

But  a  curious  and  unexpected  denouement  awaits  the 
reader.  When  Sir  Eustace's  condition,  as  he  describes 
it,  seems  most  hopeless,  its  alleviation  arrives  through 
a  religious  conversion.  There  has  been  throughout 
present  to  him  the  conscience  of  "a  soul  defiled  with 
every  stain."  And  at  the  same  moment,  under  circum- 
stances unexplained,  his  spiritual  ear  is  purged  to  hear 
a  "  Heavenly  Teacher."  The  voice  takes  the  form  of 
the  touching  and  effective  hymn,  which  has  doubtless 
found  a  place  since  in  many  an  evangelical  hymn-book, 
beginning : 

"  Pilgrim,  burthen'd  with  thy  sin, 
Come  the  way  to  Zion's  gate ; 
There,  till  Mercy  let  thee  in. 
Knock  and  weep,  and  watch  and  wait. 
Knock  ! — He  loiows  the  sinner's  cry : 
Weep  ! — He  loves  the  mourner's  tears : 
Watch  ! — for  saving  grace  is  nigh: 
Wait, — till  heavenly  light  appears." 

And  the  hymn  is  followed  by  the  pathetic  con- 
fession on  the  sufferer's  part  that  this  blessed  experience, 
though  it  has  brought  him  the  assurance  of  heavenly 
forgiveness,  still  leaves  him,  "though  elect,"  looking 
sadly  back  on  his  old  prosperity,  and  bearing,  but 
unresigned,  the  prospect  of  an  old  age  spent  amid  his 
present  gloomy  surroundings.  And  yet  Crabbe,  with 
a  touch  of  real  imaginative  insight,  represents  him  in 
his  final  utterance  as  relapsing  into  a  vague  hope  of 
some  day  being  restored  to  his  old  prosperity : 

"  Must  you,  my  friends,  no  longer  stay  ? 
Thus  quickly  all  my  pleasures  end ; 
But  I  '11  remember,  when  I  pray. 
My  kind  physician  and  his  friend : 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AiJAlN  87 

And  those  sad  houi-s  you  deif^n  to  spend 

With  nie,  I  shall  requite  them  all: 
Sir  Eustace  for  his  friends  .shall  send, 

And  thank  their  love  at  Greyling  Hall."  ' 

The  kind  physician  and  his  friend  then  proceed  to 
diagnose  the  patient's  condition — which  they  agree  is 
that  of  "a  frenzied  child  of  grace,"  and  so  the  poem 
ends.  To  one  of  its  last  stanzas  Crabbc  attached  an 
apologetic  note,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  ever  penned. 
It  exhibits  the  struggle  that  at  that  period  must  have 
been  proceeding  in  many  a  thoughtful  breast  as  to 
how  the  new  wine  of  religion  could  be  somehow 
accommodated  to  the  old  bottles  : — 

"It  has  been  suggested  to  mo  that  this  change  from  rest- 
lessness to  repose  in  the  mind  of  Sir  Eustace  is  wrought  by  a 
methodistic  call ;  and  it  is  admitted  to  be  such  :  a  sober  and 
rational  conversion  could  not  have  happened  while  the  dis- 
order of  the  brain  continued  ;  yet  the  verses  which  follow,  in 
a  different  measure,"  (Crabbe  refers  to  the  hymn)  "are  not 
intended  to  make  any  religious  persuasion  appear  ridiculous  ; 
they  are  to  bo  supposed  as  the  effect  of  memory  in  the 
disordered  mind  of  the  speaker,  and  though  evidently  enthu^^i- 
astic  in  respect  to  language,  are  not  meant  to  convey  any 
impropriety  of  sentiment." 

The  implied  suggestion  (for  it  comes  to  this)  that 
the  sentiments  of  this  devotional  hymn,  written  by 
Crabbe  himself,  could  only  have  brought  comfort  to 
the  soul  of  a  lunatic,  is  surely  as  good  a  proof  as  the 

1  Readers  of  Lockhart's  Biography  will  remember  that  in 
one  of  Scott's  latest  letters  to  his  son-in-law,  before  he  left 
England  for  Naples,  he  quoted  and  applied  to  himself  tins 
stanza  of  Sir  Eusiace  Grey.  The  incident  is  the  more  pathetic 
that  Scott,  as  he  wrote  the  words,  was  quite  aware  that  his 
own  mind  was  failing. 


88  CRABBE  [chaf. 

period  could  produce  of  the  bewilderment  in  the 
Anglican  mind  caused  by  the  revival  of  personal  religion 
under  Wesley  and  his  followers. 

According  to  Crabbc's  son  Sir  Eustace  Grey  was  written 
at  Muston  in  the  winter  of  1804-1805  This  is  scarcely 
possible,  for  Ci'abbe  did  not  return  to  his  Leicester- 
shire living  until  the  autumn  of  the  latter  year. 
Probably  the  poem  was  begun  in  Suffolk,  and  the 
final  touches  were  added  later.  Crabbe  seems  to  have 
told  his  family  that  it  was  written  during  a  severe 
snow-storm,  and  at  one  sitting.  As  the  poem  consists 
of  fifty-five  eight-lined  stanzas,  of  somewhat  complex 
construction,  the  accuracy  of  Crabbe's  account  is 
doubtful.  If  its  inspiration  was  in  some  degree  due  to 
opium,  we  know  from  the  example  of  iS.  T.  Coleridge 
that  the  opium-habit  is  not  favourable  to  certainty  of 
memory  or  the  accui-ate  presentation  of  facts.  After 
Crabbe's  death,  there  was  found  in  one  of  his  many 
manuscript  note-books  a  copy  of  verses,  undated, 
entitled  The  World  of  Dreams,  which  his  son  printed 
in  subsequent  editions  of  the  poems.  The  verses  are 
in  the  same  metre  and  rhyme-system  as  Sir  Eustace, 
and  treat  of  precisely  the  same  class  of  visions  as 
recorded  by  the  inmate  of  the  asylum.  The  rapid 
and  continuous  transition  from  scene  to  scene,  and 
period  to  period,  is  the  same  in  both.  Foreign  kings 
and  other  potentates  reappear,  as  with  De  Quincey,  in 
ghostly  and  repellent  forms  : — 

"  I  know  not  how,  but  I  am  brought 

Into  a  large  and  Gothic  hall. 
Seated  with  those  I  never  sought — 
Kings,  Caliphs,  Kaisers — silent  all ; 


v.]  IN  SUFFOLK  AGAIN  89 

Pale  as  the  dead  ;  enrobed  and  tall, 

Majestic,  frozen,  solemn,  still  ; 
They  make  my  fears,  my  wits  appal. 

And  with  both  scorn  and  terror  till." 

This,  again,  may  be  compared,  or  rather  contrasted, 
with  Coleridge's  Pains  of  Sleep,  and  it  can  hardly  l)e 
doubted  that  the  two  poems  had  a  common  origin. 

The  year  1805  was  the  last  of  Crabbe's  sojourn  in 
Suffolk,  and  it  was  made  memorable  in  the  annals  of 
literature  by  the  appearance  of  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel.  Crabbe  first  met  with  it  in  a  bookseller's 
shop  in  Ipswich,  read  it  nearly  through  while  stand- 
ing at  the  counter,  and  pronounced  that  a  new  and 
great  poet  had  appeared. 

This  was  Crabbe's  first  introduction  to  one  who  was 
before  long  to  prove  himself  one  of  his  warmest  admirers 
and  friends.  It  was  one  of  Crabbe's  virtues  that  he 
was  quick  to  recognise  the  worth  of  his  poetical  con- 
temporaries. He  had  been  repelled,  with  many  others, 
by  the  weak  side  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  but  he  liAcd 
to  revere  Wordsworth's  genius.  His  admiration  for 
Burns  was  unstinted.  But  amid  all  the  signs  of  a 
poetical  reTiaissance  in  progress,  and  under  a  natural 
temptation  to  tread  the  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new 
that  were  opening  before  him,  it  showed  a  true  judg- 
ment in  Crabbe  that  he  never  faltered  in  the 
conviction  that  his  o^vn  opportunity  and  his  own 
strength  lay  elsewhere.  Not  in  the  romantic  or  the 
mystical — not  in  perfection  of  form  or  melody  of 
lyric  verse,  were  his  own  humbler  triumphs  to  be  won. 
Like  Wordsworth,  he  was  to  find  a  sufiiciency  in  the 
"common  growth  of  mother-earth,"  though  indeed  less 
in  her  "mirth"  than  in  her  "tears."    Notwithstandiui' 


90  CRABBE  [chap.  v. 

his  Eustace  Grey,  and  World  of  Dreams,  and  the  really 
powerful  story  of  Aaron  the  Gipsy  (afterwards  to 
appear  as  the  The  Hall  of  Justice),  Crabbe  was  returning 
to  the  themes  and  the  methods  of  The  Village.  He 
had  already  completed  The  Parish  Begisfer,  and  had  The 
Borough  in  contemplation,  when  he  returned  to  his 
Leicestershire  parish.  The  woods  of  Belvoir,  and  the 
rural  charms  of  Parham  and  Glemham,  had  not 
dimmed  the  memory  of  the  sordid  little  fishing-town, 
where  the  spirit  of  poetry  had  first  met  him,  and 
thrown  her  mantle  round  him. 

And  now  the  day  had  come  when  the  mandate  of 
the  bishop  could  no  longer  be  ignored.  In  October 
1805,  Crabbe  with  his  wife  and  two  sons  returned  to 
the  Parsonai^e  at  Muston.  He  had  been  absent  from 
his  joint  livings  about  thirteen  years,  of  which  four 
had  been  spent  at  Parham,  five  at  Great  Glemham, 
and  four  at  Rendham,  all  three  places  lying  within 
a  small  area,  and  Avithin  reach  of  the  same  old  friends 
and  relations.  No  wonder  that  he  left  the  neighbour- 
hood with  a  reluctance  that  was  probably  too  well 
guessed  by  his  parishioners  in  the  Vale  of  Belvoir. 


CHAPTEK   VI 

THE   PARISH   REGISTEU 

(1805-1809) 

"When  in  October,  1805,  Mr.  Crabbe  resumed  the 
charge  of  his  own  parish  of  Muston,  he  found  some 
changes  to  vex  him,  and  not  the  less  because  he  had 
too  much  reason  to  suspect  that  his  long  absence  from 
his  incuml)ency  had  been,  partly  at  least,  the  cause  of 
them.  His  cure  had  been  served  by  respectable  and 
diligent  clergymen,  but  they  had  been  often  changed, 
and  some  of  them  had  never  resided  within  the  parish ; 
and  he  felt  that  the  l)inding  influence  of  a  settled  and 
permanent  minister  had  not  been  -withdrawn  for  twelve 
years  with  impunity.  A  Wesleyan  missionary  had 
formed  a  thriving  establi.shment  in  Muston,  and  the 
congregations  at  the  parish  church  were  no  longer 
such  as  they  had  been  of  old.  This  much  annoyed  my 
father ;  and  the  warmth  with  which  he  began  to  preach 
against  dissent  only  irritated  himself  and  others,  with- 
out bringing  back  disciples  to  the  fold." 

So  writes  Crabbe's  son  with  his  wonted  frankness 
and  good  judgment.  Moreover,  besides  the  Wesleyan 
secession,  the  mischievous  extravagances  of  William 
Huntington  (S.S.)  had  found  their  way  into  the 
parish.  To  make  matters  worse,  a  former  gardener  of 
Crabbe's  had  set  up  as  a  preacher  of  the  doctrines  of 


92  CRABBK  [chap. 

this  fanatic,  who  was  still  attracting  crowds  in  London. 
Then,  too,  as  another  fruit  of  the  rector's  long  absence, 
strange  stories  of  his  political  opinions  had  become 
current.  Owing,  doubtless,  to  his  renewed  acquaintance 
with  Dudley  North  at  Glemham,  and  occasional  asso- 
ciation with  the  Whig  leaders  at  his  house,  he  had 
exposed  himself  to  the  terrible  charge  that  he  was  a 
Jacobin  ! 

Altogether  Crabbe's  clerical  position  in  Leicester- 
shire, during  the  next  nine  years,  could  not  have  been 
very  comfortable.  But  he  Avas  evidently  still,  as 
always,  the  devout  and  kindly  pastor  of  his  flock,  and 
happily  for  himself,  he  was  now  to  receive  new  and 
unexpected  tributes  to  his  popularity  in  other  fields. 
His  younger  son,  John,  now  eighteen  years  of  age,  was 
shortly  to  go  up  to  Cambridge,  and  this  fresh  expense 
had  to  be  provided  for.  To  this  end,  a  volume  of 
poems,  partly  old  and  partly  new,  had  been  for  some 
time  in  preparation,  and  in  September  1807,  it  ap- 
peared from  the  publishing  house  of  John  Hatchard  in 
Piccadilly.  In  it  were  included  The  Library,  The  News- 
2)aper,  and  The  Village.  The  principal  new  poem  was 
The  Parish  Register,  to  which  were  added  Sir  Eustace 
Grey  and  The  Hall  of  Justice.  The  volume  was  prefaced 
by  a  Dedication  to  Henry  Kichard  Fox,  third  Lord 
Holland,  nephew  and  sometime  ward  of  Charles  James 
Fox,  and  the  reason  for  such  dedication  is  told  at 
greater  length  in  the  long  autobiographical  introduction 
that  follows. 

Twenty-two  years  had  elapsed  since  Crabbe's  last 
appearance  as  an  author,  and  he  seems  to  have  thought 
it  due  to  his  readers  to  give  some  reason  for  his  long 
abstention  from  the  poet's  'idle  trade.'     He  pleads  a 


VI.]  THE  PARISH  RE(aSTER  93 

higher  'calling,'  that  of  his  professional  duties,  as 
sufficient  excuse.  Moreover,  he  offers  the  same  excuse 
for  his  '  progress  in  the  art  of  versification '  being  less 
marked  than  his  rcadci's  might  otherwise  expect.  He 
then  proceeds  to  tell  the  story  of  the  kindness  he  had 
received  from  Burke  (who  had  died  in  1797);  the 
introduction  by  him  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and 
through  him  again  to  Samuel  Johnson.  He  gives  in 
full  Johnson's  note  approving  Tlie  Village,  and  after  a 
further  laborious  apology  for  the  shortcomings  of  his 
present  literary  venture,  goes  on  to  tell  the  one  really 
relevant  incident  of  its  appearance.  Crabbe  had  de- 
termined, he  says,  now  that  his  old  valued  advisers 
had  passed  away,  not  to  publish  anything  more — 

"  unfess  I  coufd  first  obtain  the  sanction  of  such  an  opinion 
as  I  luiglit  witbi  some  confidence  rely  upon.  I  looked  for  a 
friend  who,  having  ilio  discerning  taste  of  Mr.  Burke  and  the 
critical  sagacity  of  Doctor  Johnson,  would  bestow  upon  my 
MS.  the  attention  requisite  to  form  his  opinion,  and  would 
then  favour  me  with  the  result  of  his  observations  ;  and  it 
was  my  singuiar  good  fortune  to  obtain  such  assistance — the 
opinion  of  a  critic  so  qualified,  and  a  friend  so  disposed  to 
favour  me.  I  had  been  honoured  by  an  introduction  to  the 
Kight  Hon.  Charles  James  Fox,  some  years  before,  at  the 
scat  of  Mr.  Burke  ;  and  being  again  witli  him,  I  received  a 
promise  that  he  would  peruse  any  work  I  might  send  to  liim 
previous  to  its  publication,  and  would  give  me  his  opinion. 
At  tliat  time  I  did  not  think  myself  sufficiently  prepared; 
and  when  afterwards  I  had  cobected  some  poems  for  his  in- 
spection, I  found  my  right  honourable  friend  engaged  by  the 
affairs  of  a  great  empire,  and  struggling  with  the  inveteracy 
of  a  fatal  disease.  At  such  time,  upon  such  mind,  ever  dis- 
posed to  oblige  as  that  mind  was,  I  could  not  obtrude  the 
petty  business  of  criticising  verses  ;  but  he  remembered  the 
promise  he  had  kindly  given,  and  repeated  an  offer  which 


94  CRABBE  [chap. 

though  I  had  not  presumed  to  expect,  I  was  happy  to  receive. 
A  copy  of  the  poems,  now  first  published,  was  sent  to  him, 
and  (as  I  have  the  information  from  Lord  Holland,  and  his 
Lordship's  permission  to  inform  my  readers)  the  poem  which 
I  have  named  The  Parish  Register  was  heard  by  Mr.  Fox, 
and  it  excited  interest  enough  by  some  of  its  parts  to  gain  for 
me  the  benefit  of  his  judgment  upon  the  whole.  Whatever  he 
apin-oved,  the  reader  will  readily  believe,  I  have  carefully 
retained  :  the  parts  he  disliked  are  totally  expunged,  and 
others  are  substituted,  which  I  hope  resemble  those  more 
conformable  to  the  taste  of  so  admirable  a  judge.  Nor  can  I 
deny  myself  the  melancholy  satisfaction  of  adding  that  this 
poem  (and  more  especially  the  history  of  Phoebe  Dawson, 
with  some  parts  of  the  second  book)  were  the  last  composi- 
tions of  their  kind  that  engaged  and  amused  the  capacious,  the 
candid,  the  benevolent  mind  of  this  great  man." 

It  was,  as  we  have  seen,  at  Dudley  North's  residence 
in  Suffolk  that  Crabbe  had  renewed  his  acquaintance 
with  Fox,  and  received  from  him  fresh  offers  of  criticism 
and  advice.  And  now  the  great  statesman  had  passed 
beyond  reach  of  Crahbe's  gratitude.  He  had  died  in 
the  autumn  of  1806,  at  the  Duke  of  Devonshire's,  at 
Chiswick.  His  last  months  were  of  great  suffering, 
and  the  tedium  of  his  latter  days  was  relieved  by  being 
read  aloud  to — the  Latin  poets  taking  their  turn  with 
Crabbc's  pathetic  stories  of  humble  life.  In  the  same 
preface,  Crabbe  further  expresses  similar  obligations 
to  his  friend,  Kichard  Turner  of  Yarmouth.  The 
result  of  this  double  criticism  is  the  more  discernible 
when  we  compare  Tlie  Parish  Register  with  its  suc- 
cessor, The  Borough,  in  the  composition  of  which  Crabbe 
admits,  in  the  preface  to  that  poem,  that  he  had  trusted 
more  entirely  to  his  own  judgment. 

In  The  Parish  Begister,  Crabbe  retiiriis  to  the  theme 


VI.]  THE  PARISH  REGISTER  95 

which  he  had  treated  twenty  years  before  in  Tlie 
Village,  but  on  a  larger  and  more  elaborate  scale. 
The  scheme  is  simple  and  not  incflcctive.  A  village 
clergyman  is  the  narrator,  and  with  his  registers  of 
baptisms,  marriages,  and  burials  open  before  him,  looks 
through  the  various  entries  for  the  year  just  com- 
pleted. As  name  after  name  recalls  interesting  parti- 
culars of  character  and  incident  in  their  history,  he 
relates  them  as  if  to  an  imaginary  friend  at  his  side. 
The  precedent  of  The  Deserted  VilUvjr,  is  still  obviously 
near  to  the  writer's  mind,  and  he  is  alternately  at- 
tracted and  repelled  by  Goldsmith's  ideals.  For 
instance,  the  poem  opens  with  an  introduction  of  some 
length  in  which  the  general  aspects  of  village  life  are 
described.  Crabl)c  begins  by  repudiating  any  idea  of 
such  life  as  had  Ijeen  described  by  his  predecessor : — 

"Is  there  a  place,  save  one  the  poet  sees, 
A  land  of  love,  of  liberty,  and  ease  ; 
Where  labour  wearies  not,  nor  cares  suppress 
Th'  eternal  flow  of  rustic  happiness  : 
Where  no  proud  mansion  frowns  in  awful  state, 
Or  keeps  the  sunshine  from  the  cottage-gate  ; 
Where  young  and  old,  intent  on  pleasure,  throng, 
And  half  man's  life  is  holiday  and  song  1 
Vain  search  fur  scenes  like  these  !  no  view  appears, 
By  sighs  unruffled,  or  unstain'd  by  tears  ; 
Since  vice  the  world  subdued  and  waters  drown'd, 
Auburn  and  Eden  can  no  more  be  found." 

And  yet  the  poet  at  once  proceeds  to  describe  his 
village  in  much  the  same  tone,  and  with  much  of  the 
same  detail  as  Goldsmith  had  done  : — 

"  Behold  the  Cot !  where  thrives  th'  industrious  swain, 
Source  of  his  pride,  his  pleasure,  and  his  gain. 


96  CRABBE  [chap. 

Screen'd  from  the  winter's  wind,  the  sun's  last  ray 

Smiles  on  the  window  and  prolongs  the  day  ; 

Projecting  thatch  the  woodbine's  branches  stop, 

And  turn  their  blossoms  to  the  casement's  top  ; 

All  need  requires  is  in  that  cot  contain'd, 

And  much  that  taste  untaught  and  unrestrain'd 

Surveys  delighted  :  there  she  loves  to  trace, 

In  one  gay  picture,  all  the  royal  race  ; 

Around  the  walls  are  heroes,  lovers,  kings  ; 

The  print  that  shows  them  and  the  verse  that  sings." 

Then  follow,  as  in  The  Deserted  Village,  the  coloured 
prints,  and  ballads,  and  even  The  Twelve  Good  Iiules, 
that  decorate  the  walls :  the  humble  library  that  fills 
the  deal  shelf  "beside   the   cuckoo  clock";   the  few 
devotional    works,    including    the    illustrated    Bible, 
bought  in  parts  with  the  weekly  sixpence ;  the  choice 
notes  by  learned  editors  that  raise  more  doubts  than 
they  close.     "  Eather,"  exclaims  Crabbe  : 
"  Ob  !  rather  give  me  commentators  plain 
Who  with  no  deep  researches  vex  the  brain  ; 
Who  from  the  dark  and  doubtful  love  to  run, 
And  hold  their  glimmering  tapers  to  the  sun." 

The  last  line  of  which  he  conveyed,  no  doubt  uncon- 
sciously, from  Young.  Nothing  can  be  more  winning 
than  the  picture  of  the  village  home  thus  presented. 
And  outside  it,  the  plot  of  carefully-tended  ground, 
with  not  only  fruits  and  herbs  but  space  reserved  for  a 
few  choice  flowers,  the  rich  carnation  and  the  "pounced 
auricula  " : — 

"  Here,  on  a  Sunday  eve,  when  service  ends. 
Meet  and  rejoice  a  family  of  friends  : 
All  speak  aloud,  are  happy  and  are  free, 
And  glad  they  seem,  and  gaily  they  agree. 
What,  though  fastidious  ears  may  shun  the  speech, 
Where  all  are  talkers,  and  where  none  can  teach  ; 


yj.]  THE  PARISH  REGISTER  97 

Where  still  the  welcome  and  the  words  arc  old, 
And  the  same  stories  are  for  ever  told  ; 
Yet  theirs  is  joy  that,  bursting  from  the  heart. 
Prompts  the  ghitl  tongue  these  nothings  to  impart  ; 
That  furuis  these  tones  of  gladness  we  despise. 
That  lifts  their  steps,  that  sparkles  in  their  eyes  ; 
That  talks  or  laughs  or  runs  or  shouts  or  plays. 
And  speaks  in  all  their  looks  and  all  their  ways." 

This  charming  passage  is  thoroughly  in  Goldsmith's 
vein,  and  even  shows  markedly  the  influence  of  his 
manner,  and  yet  it  is  no  mere  echo  of  another  poet. 
The  scenes  descril)ed  are  those  which  had  become  dear 
and  familiar  to  Crabbe  during  years  of  residence  in 
Leicestershire  and  inland  Suffolk.  And  yet  at  this 
very  juncture,  Crabbc's  poetic  conscience  smites  him. 
It  is  not  for  him,  he  remembers,  to  deal  only  with  the 
sweeter  aspects,  though  he  knows  them  to  exist,  of 
village  life.     He  must  return  to  its  sterner  side  : — 

"  Fair  scenes  of  peace  !  ye  might  detain  us  long. 
But  vice  and  misery  now  demand  the  song ; 
And  turn  our  view  from  dwellings  simply  neat, 
To  this  infected  Eow  we  term  our  Street." 

For  even  the  village  of  trim  gardens  and  cherished 
Bibles  has  its  "slums,"  and  on  these  slums  Crabbe 
proceeds  to  enlarge  with  almost  ferocious  realism : — 

"  Here,  in  cabal,  a  disputatious  crew 
Each  evening  meet ;  the  sot,  the  cheat,  the  shrew  ; 
Riots  are  nightly  heard  : — the  curse,  the  cries 
Of  beaten  wife,  perverse  in  her  replies. 
While  shrieking  children  hold  each  threat'ning  hand. 
And  sometimes  life,  and  .sometimes  food  demand  ; 
Ijoys,  in  their  first-storn  rags,  to  swear  begin  ; 
And  girls,  who  heed  not  dress,  are  skill'd  in  gin." 
G 


98  CRABBE  [chap. 

It  is  obvious,  I  think,  that  Crabbe's  representations 
of  country  life  here,  as  in  The  Village  and  The  Borough, 
are  often  eclectic,  and  that  for  the  sake  of  telling 
contrast,  he  was  at  times  content  to  blend  scenes  that 
he  had  witnessed  under  very  opposite  conditions. 

The  section  entitled  "Baptisms"  deals  accordingly  with 
many  sad  instances  of  "  base-born "  children,  and  the 
section  on  "  Marriages  "  also  has  its  full  share  of  kindred 
instances  in  which  the  union  in  Church  has  only  been 
brought  about  by  pressure  from  the  parish  authorities. 
The  marriage  of  one  such  "compelled  bridegroom "  is 
related  with  a  force  and  minuteness  of  detail  through- 
out which  not  a  word  is  thrown  away  : — 

"  Next  at  our  altar  stood  a  luckless  pair. 
Brought  by  strong  passions  and  a  warrant  there  ; 
By  long  rent  cloak,  hung  loosely,  strove  the  bride 
From  every  eye,  what  all  perceived,  to  hide. 
While  the  hoy-bridegroom,  shuffling  in  his  pace, 
Now  hid  awhile,  and  then  exposed  his  face  ; 
As  shame  alternately  with  anger  strove 
The  brain,  confused  with  muddy  ale,  to  move. 
In  haste  and  stammering  he  perform'd  his  part, 
And  look'd  the  rage  that  rankled  in  his  heart  : 
(So  will  each  lover  inly  curse  his  fate. 
Too  soon  made  happy,  and  made  wise  too  late  ;) 
I  saw  his  features  take  a  savage  gloom. 
And  deeply  threaten  for  the  days  to  come. 
Low  spake  the  lass,  and  lisp'd  and  minced  the  while, 
Look'd  on  the  lad,  and  fointly  tried  to  smile  ; 
With  soften'd  speech  and  humbled  tone  she  strove 
To  stir  the  embers  of  departed  love  : 
While  he,  a  tyrant,  frowning  walk'd  before. 
Felt  the  poor  purse,  and  sought  the  public  door. 
She  sadly  following  in  submission  went 
And  saw  the  final  shilling  foully  spent ; 


VI.]  THE  PARISH  REGISTER  99 

Then  to  her  father's  hut  the  pair  withdrew, 
And  bade  to  love  and  comfort  long  adieu  ! 

Ah  !  fly  temptation,  youth,  refrain  !  refrain  ! 

I  preach  for  ever  ;  but  I  preach  in  vain  !  " 

There  is  no  "mealy-mouthed  phihinthropy "  here. 
No  one  can  doubt  the  earnestness  and  truth  of  the 
poet's  mingled  anger  and  sorrow.  The  misery  of  irre- 
gular unions  had  never  Ijeen  "  bitten  in "  with  more 
convincing  force.  The  verse,  moreover,  in  the  passage 
is  freer  than  usual  from  many  of  Crabbe's  eccentri- 
cities. It  is  marked  here  and  there  by  his  fondness 
for  verbal  antithesis,  almost  amounting  to  the  pun, 
which  his  parodists  have  not  overlooked.  The  second 
line  indeed  is  hardly  more  allowa])lc  in  serious  verse 
than  Dickens's  mention  of  the  lady  who  went  home  "  in 
a  flood  of  tears  and  a  sedan-chair."  But  Crabbe's  indul- 
gence in  this  habit  is  never  a  mere  concession  to  the 
reader's  flippant  taste.  His  epigrams  often  strike 
deeply  home,  as  in  this  instance  or  in  the  line  : — 

"  Too  soon  made  hapjiy,  and  made  wise  too  late." 

The  story  that  follows  of  Phoebe  Dawson,  which 
helped  to  soothe  Fox  in  the  last  stage  of  his  long  dis- 
ease, is  no  less  powerful.  The  gradual  steps  by  which 
the  village  beauty  is  led  to  her  ruin  are  told  in  a 
hundred  lines  with  a  fidelity  not  surpassed  in  the  case 
of  the  story  of  Hetty  Sorrel.  The  verse,  alternately 
recalling  Pope  and  Goldsmith,  is  yet  impelled  by  a 
moral  intention,  which  gives  it  absolute  individuality. 
The  picture  presented  is  as  poignantly  pathetic  as 
Frederick  Walker's  Lost  Path,  or  Langhorne's  Child 
of  misery,  baptized  in  tears."  That  it  will  ever  again 
be  ranked  Avith  such  may  be  doubtful,  for  technique  is 


100  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

the  first  quality  demanded  of  an  artist  in  our  day,  and 
Crabbe's  technique  is  too  often  defective  in  the  extreme. 
These  more  tragic  incidents  of  village  life  are,  how- 
ever, relieved  at  proper  intervals  by  some  of  lighter 
complexion.  There  is  the  gentleman's  gardener  who 
has  his  successive  children  christened  by  the  Latin 
names  of  his  plants, — Lonicera,  Hyacinthus  and  Senecio. 
Then  we  have  the  gallant,  gay  Lothario,  who  not  only 
fails  to  lead  astray  the  lovely  Fanny  Price,  but  is  con- 
verted by  her  to  worthier  aims,  and  ends  by  becoming 
the  best  friend  and  benefactor  of  her  and  her  rustic 
suitor.  There  is  an  impressive  sketch  of  the  elderly 
prude  : — 

" wise,  austere,  and  nice. 

Who  showed  her  virtue  by  her  scorn  of  vice  "  ; 

and  another  of  the  selfish  and  worldly  life  of  the  Lady 
at  the  Great  House  who  prefers  to  spend  her  fortune 
in  London,  and  leaves  her  tenants  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  her  steward.  Her  forsaken  mansion  is  described  in 
lines  curiously  anticipating  Hood's  Haunted  House : — 

" forsaken  stood  the  Hall : 

Worms  ate  the  floors,  the  tap'stry  iied  the  wall : 
No  fire  the  kitchen's  cheerless  grate  display'd  ; 
No  cheerful  li^lit  the  long- closed  sash  convey'd  ; 
The  crawling  worm  that  turns  a  summer  fly. 
Here  spun  his  shroud,  and  laid  him  up  to  die 
The  winter-death  : — upon  the  bed  of  state. 
The  bat  shrill  shrieking  woo'd  his  flickering  mate." 

Li  the  end  her  splendid  funeral  is  solemnised : — 

"  Dark  but  not  awful,  dismal  but  yet  mean. 
With  anxious  bustle  moves  the  cumbrous  scene  ; 
Presents  no  objects  tender  or  profound 
But  spreads  its  cold  unmeaning  gloom  arounib" 


VI.]  THE  PARISH  REOISTER  101 

And  the  sarcastic  village-father,  after  hearing  "some 
scholar"  read  the  list  of  her  titles  and  her  virtues, 
"looked  disdain  and  said  "  : — 

"  Away,  my  friends  !  why  take  such  pains  to  know 
What  some  brave  uiarl)le  soon  in  Church  shall  show  1 
Where  not  alone  her  gracious  name  shall  stand. 
But  how  she  lived— the  T)lessing  of  the  land  ; 
How  much  we  all  deplored  the  noble  dead, 
What  groans  we  uttered  and  what  tears  we  shed  ; 
Tears,  true  as  those  which  in  the  sleepy  eyes 
Of  weeping  cherubs  on  the  stone  shall  rise  ; 
Tears,  true  as  those  which,  ere  she  found  her  grave, 
The  noble  Lady  to  our  sorrows  gave  !  " 

These  portraits  of  the  ignoble  rich  are  balanced  by 
one  of  the  "noble  peasant"  Isaac  Ashford,  drawn,  as 
Crabbe's  son  tells  us,  irom  a  former  parish-clerk  of  his 
father's  at  North  Glemham.  Coming  to  be  past  work 
through  infirmities  of  age,  the  old  man  has  to  face  the 
probability  of  the  parish  poorhouse,  and  reconciling 
himself  to  his  lot  is  happily  spared  the  sore  trial : — 

"Daily  he  placed  the  Workhouse  in  his  view  ! 
But  came  not  there,  for  sudden  was  his  fate, 
He  dropp'd,  expiring,  at  his  cottage-gate. 

I  feel  his  absence  in  the  hours  of  prayer, 
And  view  his  seat,  and  sigh  for  Isaac  there  : 
I  see  no  more  those  white  locks  thinly  spread 
Round  the  bald  polish  of  that  honoui-'d  head  ; 
No  more  that  awful  glance  on  playful  wight, 
Compell'd  to  kneel  and  tremble  at  the  sight. 
To  fold  his  fingers,  all  in  dread  the  while. 
Till  Mister  Ashford  soften'd  to  a  smile  ; 
No  more  that  meek  and  suppliant  look  in  prayer, 
Nor  the  pure  faith  (to  give  it  force),  are  there : — 
But  he  is  blest,  and  I  Liment  no  more 
A  wise,  good  man,  contented  to  bo  jioor." 


102  CRABBE  [chap. 

Where  Crabbe  is  represented,  not  unfairly,  as  dwell- 
ing mainly  on  the  seamy  side  of  ueasant  and  village 
life,  such  passages  as  the  above  arc  not  to  be  over- 
looked. 

This  final  section  ("  Burials  ")  is  brought  to  a  close  by 
an  ingenious  incident  which  changes  the  current  of  the 
vicar's  thoughts.  lie  is  in  the  midst  of  the  recollec- 
tions of  his  departed  flock  when  the  tones  of  the  pass- 
ing-bell fall  upon  his  ear.  On  sending  to  inquire  he 
finds  that  they  tell  of  a  new  death,  that  of  his  own 
aged  parish-sexton,  "  old  Dibble  "  (the  name,  it  may  be 
presumed,  an  imperfect  reminiscence  of  Justice  Shallow's 
friend).  The  speaker's  thoughts  are  now  directed  to 
his  old  parish  servant,  and  to  the  old  man's  favourite 
stories  of  previous  vicars  under  whom  he  has  served. 
Thus  the  poem  ends  with  sketches  of  Parson  Addle, 
Parson  Peele,  Dr.  Grandspear  and  others — among  them 
the  "Author-Rector,"  intended  (the  younger  Crabbe 
thought)  as  a  portrait  of  the  poet  himself.  Finally 
Crabbe  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  include  a 
young  parson,  "a  youth  from  Cambridge,"  who  has 
imbibed  some  extreme  notions  of  the  school  of  Simeon, 
and  who  is  shown  as  fearful  on  his  death-bed  lest 
he  should  have  been  guilty  of  too  many  good  works. 
He  appeals  to  his  old  clerk  on  the  subject ; — 

"  '  My  ahns-deeds  all,  and  every  deed  I  've  done. 
My  moral-rags  defile  me  every  one  ; 
It  should  not  be  : — what  say'st  thou  !  Tell  me,  Ealph.' 

*  Quoth  I,  your  Keverence,  I  believe  you  're  safe  ; 

*  Your  faith 's  your  prop,  nor  have  you  pass'd  such  time 

*  In  life's  good  works  as  swell  them  to  a  crime. 
'If  I  of  pardon  for  my  sins  were  sure, 

'  About  my  goodness  I  would  rest  secure.' " 


VI.]  THE  PARISH  RKHlSTlJli  103 

Thu  volume  containing  Tlic  rarish  Register,  The 
Villafjc,  siixd  others,  appeared  in  the  autumn  of  1807; 
and  Crabbe's  general  acceptance  as  a  poet  of  mark 
dates  from  that  year.  Four  editions  were  issued  by 
Mr.  Hatchard  during  the  following  year  and  a  half — 
the  fourth  appearing  in  March  1809.  The  reviews 
were  unanimous  in  approval,  headed  by  Jefl'rey  in  the 
Edinburgh,  and  within  two  days  of  the  appearance  of 
this  article,  according  to  Crabbe's  son,  the  whole  of  the 
first  edition  was  sold  oil". 

At  this  date,  there  was  room  for  Crabbe  as  a  poet, 
and  there  was  still  more  room  for  him  as  an  innovator 
in  the  art  of  fiction.  Macaulay,  in  his  essay  on  Addison, 
has  pointed  out  how  the  Eoger  de  Coverley  papers 
gave  the  public  of  his  day  the  first  taste  of  a  new  and 
exquisite  pleasure.  At  the  time  "  when  Fielding  was 
birds-nesting,  and  Smollett  was  unborn,"  he  was  laying 
the  foundations  of  the  English  novel  of  real  life.  After 
nearly  a  hundred  years,  Crabbe  was  conferring  a 
similar  benefit.  The  novel  had  in  the  interim  risen 
to  its  full  height,  and  then  sunk.  AVhen  Crabbe  pub- 
lished his  Parish  Ilcgisfer,  the  novels  of  the  day  were 
largely  the  vapid  productions  of  the  Minerva  Press, 
without  atmosphere,  colour,  or  truth.  Miss  Edge- 
worth  alone  had  already  struck  the  note  of  a  new 
development  in  her  Casfle  Jiackrent,  not  to  mention  the 
delightful  stories  in  The  Parents'  Assistant,  Simj^le  Susan, 
Lazy  Lawrence,  or  The  Basket- JFoman.  Gait's  master- 
piece, The  Annals  of  the  Parish,  was  not  yet  even  lying 
unfinished  in  his  desk.  The  Mucklebackits  and  the 
Headriggs  were  still  further  distant.  Miss  Mitford's 
sketches  in  Our  Village — the  nearest  in  form  to  Crabbe's 
pictures   of    country   life — were   to   come   later   still. 


104  CRABBE  [chap. 

Crabbe,  though  he  adhered,  with  a  wise  knowledge 
of  his  own  powers,  to  the  heroic  couplet,  is  really  a 
chief  founder  of  the  rural  novel — the  Silas  Marner  and 
the  Adam  Bcde  of  fifty  years  later.  Of  course  (for 
no  man  is  original)  he  had  developed  his  methods  out 
of  that  of  his  predecessors.  Pope  was  his  earliest 
master  in  his  art.  And  what  Pope  had  done  in  his 
telling  couplets  for  the  man  and  woman  of  fashion — 
the  Chloes  and  Narcissus  of  his  day — Crabbe  hoped 
that  he  might  do  for  the  poor  and  squalid  inhal)itants 
of  the  Suffolk  seaport.  Then,  too,  Thomson's  "lovely 
young  Lavinia,"  and  Goldsmith's  village-parson  and 
poor  widow  gathering  her  cresses  from  the  brook,  had 
been  before  him  and  contributed  their  share  of  influ- 
ence. But  Crabbe's  achievement  was  practically  a  new 
thing.  The  success  of  The  Parisli  Register  was  largely 
that  of  a  new  adventure  in  the  world  of  fiction.  What- 
ever defects  the  critic  of  pure  poetry  might  discover 
in  its  workmanship,  the  poem  was  read  for  its  stories — 
for  a  truth  of  realism  that  could  not  be  doubted,  and 
for  a  pity  that  could  not  be  unshared. 

In  1809  Crabbe  forwarded  a  copy  of  his  poems  (now 
reduced  by  the  publisher  to  the  form  of  two  small 
volumes,  and  in  their  fourth  edition)  to  Walter  Scott, 
who  acknowledged  them  and  Crabbe's  accompanying 
letter  in  a  friendly  reply,  to  which  reference  has  already 
been  made.  After  mentioning  how  for  more  than 
twenty  years  he  had  desired  the  pleasure  of  a  personal 
introduction  to  Cral)be,  and  how,  as  a  lad  of  eighteen, 
he  had  met  with  selections  from  The  Village  and  The 
Library  in  The  Annual  Register,  he  continues  : — 

"  You  may  therefore  guess  my  sincere  delight  when  I  saw 
your  poems  at  a  late  period  assume  the  rank  in  the  public 


VI.]  Till':  PARISH  liKdlSTER  105 

con.'iidcration  which  they  so  well  deserve.  It  was  a  triumph 
to  my  own  immature  tustc  to  find  I  had  anticipated  the 
applause  of  the  learned  and  the  critical,  and  I  became  very 
desirous  to  offer  my  (jratulor  among  the  more  important 
plaudits  which  you  have  had  from  every  {|uarter.  I  should 
certainly  have  availed  myself  of  the  freemasonry  of  authorship 
(for  our  trade  may  claim  to  be  a  mystery  as  well  as  Abhorson's) 
to  address  to  you  a  copy  of  a  new  poetical  attempt,  which  I 
have  now  upon  the  anvil,  and  I  esteem  myself  particularly  ob- 
liged to  Mr.  Ilatchard,  and  to  your  goodness  acting  upon  his 
information,  for  giving  me  the  opportunity  of  paving  the  way 
for  such  a  freedom.  I  am  too  proud  of  the  compliments 
you  honour  me  with  to  affect  to  decline  them;  and  with 
respect  to  the  comparative  view  I  have  of  my  own  labours 
and  yours,  I  can  only  assure  you  that  none  of  my  little  folks, 
about  the  formation  of  whose  tastes  and  principles  I  uuiy  be 
supposed  naturally  solicitous,  have  ever  read  any  of  my  own 
poems — while  yours  have  been  our  regular  evening's  amuse- 
ment. My  eldest  girl  begins  to  read  well,  and  enters  as  well 
into  the  humour  as  into  the  sentiment  of  your  admirable 
descriptions  of  human  life.  As  for  rivalry,  I  think  it  has 
seldom  existed  among  those  who  know  by  experience  that 
there  are  much  better  things  in  the  world  than  literary 
reputation,  and  that  one  of  the  best  of  these  good  things  is 
the  regard  and  friendship  of  those  deservedly  and  generally 
esteemed  for  their  worth  or  their  talents.  I  believe  many 
dilettante  authors  do  cocker  themselves  up  into  a  great 
jealousy  of  anything  that  interferes  with  what  they  are 
pleased  to  call  their  fame:  but  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
nursing  one  of  my  own  fingers  into  a  whitlow  for  my  private 
amusement  as  encouraging  such  a  feeling.  I  am  truly  sorry 
to  observe  you  mention  bad  health :  those  who  contribute^so 
much  to  the  improvement  as  well  as  the  delight  of  society 
should  escape  this  evil.  I  hope,  however,  that  one  day  your 
state  of  health  may  permit  you  to  view  this  country." 

This  interchange  of  letters  was  the  beginning  of  a 
friendship  that  was  to  endure  and  strengthen  through 
the  lives  of  both  poets,  for  they  died  in  the  self-same 


106  CRABBE  [chap. 

year.  The  "new  poetical  attempt"  that  was  "on  the 
anvil "  must  have  been  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  completed 
and  published  in  the  following  year.  But  already  Scott 
had  uneasy  misgivings  that  the  style  would  not  bear 
unlimited  repetition.  Even  before  Byron  burst  upon 
the  world  with  the  two  first  cantos  of  CMlde  Harold, 
and  drew  on  him  the  eyes  of  all  readers  of  poetry, 
Scott  had  made  the  unwelcome  discovery  that  his  own 
matter  and  manner  was  imitable,  and  that  others  were 
borrowing  it.  Many  could  now  "grow  the  flower" 
(or  something  like  it),  for  "all  had  got  the  seed." 
It  was  this  persuasion  that  set  him  thinking  whether 
he  might  not  change  his  topics  and  his  metre,  and 
still  retain  his  public.  To  this  end  he  threw  up  a 
few  tiny  hallons  d'essai — experiments  in  the  manner 
of  some  of  his  popular  contemporaries,  and  printed 
them  in  the  columns  of  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register. 
One  of  these  was  a  grim  story  of  village  crime  called 
The  Poacher,  and  written  in  avowed  imitation  of 
Crabbe.  Scott  was  earnest  in  assuring  Lockhart  that 
he  had  written  in  no  spirit  of  travesty,  but  only  to 
test  whether  he  would  be  likely  to  succeed  in  narrative 
verse  of  the  same  pattern.  He  had  adopted  Crabbe's 
metre,  and  as  far  as  he  could  compass  it,  his  spirit  also. 
The  result  is  noteworthy,  and  shows  once  again  how 
a  really  original  imagination  cannot  pour  itself  into 
another's  mould.  A  few  lines  may  suffice,  in  evidence. 
The  couplet  about  the  vicar's  sermons  makes  one  sure 
that  for  the  moment  Scott  was  good-humouredly 
copying  one  foible  at  least  of  his  original : — 

"  Approach  and  through  the  unlatticed  window  peep. 
Nay,  shrink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep ; 


VI.]  THE  PARISH  REGISTER  107 

Sunk  'mid  yon  sordid  blankets,  till  the  sun 

Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are  done. 

Loaded  and  primed,  and  prompt  for  desperate  hand, 

Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand, 

While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 

The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade ; 

For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape 

The  crow,  the  saw,  the  bludgeon,  and  the  crape  ; 

His  pilfered  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards, 

And  the  filched  lead  the  church's  roof  affords — 

(Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret, 

That  while  his  sermon's  dry,  his  walls  are  wet.) 

The  fish-spear  barbed,  the  sweeping  net  are  there, 

Dog-hides,  and  pheasant  plumes,  and  skins  of  hare, 

Cordage  for  toils,  and  wiring  for  tiie  snare. 

Bartered  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  Avon, 

Yon  cask  holds  moonlight, ^  seen  when  moon  was  none ; 

And  late-snatched  spoils  lie  stowed  in  hutch  apart, 

To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  cart." 

Happily  for  Scott's  fame,  and  for  the  world's  delight, 
he  did  not  long  pursue  the  unprofitable  task  of  copy- 
ing other  men.  Rokeby  appeared,  was  coldly  received, 
and  then  Scott  turned  his  thoughts  to  fiction  in  prose, 
came  upon  his  long-lost  fragment  of  Waverlaj,  and  the 
need  of  conciliating  the  poetic  taste  of  the  day  was  at 
an  end  for  ever.  But  his  aflfection  for  Crabbe  never 
waned.  In  his  earlier  novels  there  was  no  contem- 
porary poet  he  more  often  quoted  as  headings  for  his 
chapters — and  it  was  Crabbe's  Borough  to  which  he 
listened  with  unfailing  delight  twenty  years  later,  in 
the  last  sad  hours  of  his  decay, 

^  A  cant  term  for  smuggled  spirits. 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE  BOROUGH 

(1809—1812) 

The  immediate  success  of  The  Parish  Register  in  1807 
encouraged  Crabbo  to  proceed  at  once  with  a  far  longer 
poem,  which  had  been  some  years  in  hand.  The 
Borough  was  begun  at  Rendham  in  SuiTolk  in  1801, 
continued  at  Muston  after  the  return  thither  in  1 805, 
and  finally  completed  during  a  long  visit  to  Alde- 
burgh  in  the  autumn  of  1809.  That  the  Poem 
should  have  been  "  in  the  making "  during  at  least 
eight  years  is  quite  what  might  be  inferred  from  the 
finished  work.  It  proved,  on  appearance,  to  be  of 
portentous  length — at  least  ten  thousand  lines.  Its 
versification  included  every  degree  of  finish  of  which 
Crabbe  was  capable,  from  his  very  best  to  his  very 
worst.  Parts  of  it  were  evidently  written  when  the 
theme  stirred  and  moved  the  writer  :  others,  again, 
when  he  was  merely  bent  on  reproducing  scenes  that 
lived  in  his  singularly  retentive  memory,  with  needless 
minuteness  of  detail,  and  in  any  kind  of  couplet  that 
might  pass  muster  in  respect  of  scansion  and  rhyme. 
In  the  preface  to  the  poem,  on  its  appearance  in  1810, 
Crabbe  displays  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  his  poem 
was  open  to  objection  in  this  respect.  In  his  previous 
ventures  he  had   had   Edmund  Burke,  Johnson,  and 

108 


CHAP.  VII.  1  THE  BOROUGH  109 

Fox,  besides  his  friend  Turner  at  Yarmouth,  to  re- 
strain or  to  revise.  On  the  present  occasion,  the  three 
first-named  friends  had  passed  away,  and  Crabbe  took 
his  MS,  with  him  to  Yarmouth,  on  the  occasion  of  his 
visit  to  the  Eastern  Counties,  for  Mr,  Kichurd  Turner's 
opinion.  The  scholarly  rector  of  Great  Yarmouth  may 
well  have  shrunk  from  advising  on  a  poem  of  ten  thou- 
sand lines  in  which,  as  the  result  was  to  show,  the 
pruning-knife  and  other  trenchant  remedies  would  have 
seemed  to  him  urgently  needed.  As  it  proved,  Mr. 
Turner's  opinion  was  on  the  whole  "highly  favourable  ; 
but  he  intimated  that  there  were  portions  of  the  new 
work  which  might  be  liable  to  rough  treatment  from 
the  critics." 

The  Borough  is  an  extension — a  very  elaborate 
extension — of  the  topics  already  treated  in  The  Village 
and  The  Parish  Register.  The  place  indicated  is  undis- 
guisedly  Aldeburgh  ;  but  as  Crabbe  had  now  chosen  a 
far  larger  canvas  for  his  picture,  he  ventured  to 
enlarge  the  scope  of  his  observation,  and  while  retaining 
the  scenery  and  general  character  of  the  little  seaport 
of  his  youth,  to  introduce  any  incidents  of  town  life 
and  experiences  of  human  character  that  he  had 
met  with  subsequently.  The  Borougli,  is  Aldel^irgh 
extended  and  magnified.  Besides  church  otficials 
it  exhibits  every  shade  of  nonconformist  creed  and 
practice,  notably  those  of  which  the  writer  was  now 
having  unpleasant  experience  at  Muston.  It  has,  of 
course,  like  its  prototype,  a  mayor  and  corporation, 
and  frequent  parliamentary  elections.  It  supports 
many  professors  of  the  law ;  ph3'sicians  of  high 
repute,  and  medical  quacks  of  very  low.  Social  life 
and  pleasure  is  abundant,  with  clubs,  card-parties,  and 


110  CRABBE  [chap. 

theatres.  It  boasts  an  almshouse,  hospital,  prisons, 
and  schools  for  all  classes.  The  poem  is  divided  into 
t\venty-four  cantos  or  sections,  written  as  "Letters"  to 
an  imaginary  correspondent  who  had  bidden  the  writer 
"  describe  the  borough,"  each  dealing  with  its  separate 
topic — professions,  trades,  sects  in  religion,  inns,  stroll- 
ing players,  almshouse  inhabitants,  and  so  forth. 
These  descriptions  are  relieved  at  intervals  by  elabo- 
rate sketches  of  character,  as  in  The  Parish  Register — 
the  vicar,  the  curate,  the  parish  clerk,  or  by  some 
notably  pathetic  incident  in  the  life  of  a  tenant  of  the 
almshouse,  or  a  prisoner  in  the  gaol.  Some  of  these 
reach  the  highest  level  of  Crabbe's  previous  studies  in 
the  same  kind,  and  it  was  to  these  that  the  new  work 
was  mainly  to  owe  its  success.  Despite  of  frequent 
defects  of  workmanship,  they  cling  to  the  memory 
through  their  truth  and  intensity,  though  to  many  a 
reader  to-day  such  episodes  may  be  chiefly  known  to 
exist  through  a  parenthesis  in  one  of  Macaulay's  Essays, 
where  he  speaks  of  "  that  pathetic  passage  in  Crabbe's 
Bwmigh  which  has  made  many  a  rough  and  cynical 
reader  cry  like  a  child." 

The  passage  referred  to  is  the  once-famous  descrip- 
tion of  the  condemned  Felon  in  the  "Letter"  on 
Prisons.  Macaulay  had,  as  we  know,  his  "  heightened 
way  of  putting  things,"  but  the  narrative  which  he 
cites,  as  foil  to  one  of  Robert  Montgomery's  borrow- 
ings, deserves  the  praise.  It  shows  Crabbe's  descrip- 
tive power  at  its  best,  and  his  rare  power  and 
insight  into  the  workings  of  the  heart  and  mind.  He 
has  to  trace  the  sequence  of  thoughts  and  feelings  in 
the  condemned  criminal  during  the  days  between  his 
sentence  and  its  execution ;    the  dreams    of    happier 


VII.]  THE  BOROUGH  111 

diiys  that  haunt  his  pillow — days  when  he  wandered 
with  his  sweetheart  or  his  sister  through  their  village 
meadows : — 

"  Yes  !  all  are  with  liiiu  now,  and  all  the  while 
Life's  early  prospects  and  his  Fanny's  smile  : 
Then  conic  his  sister  and  his  village  friend, 
And  he  will  now  the  sweetest  moments  spend 
Life  has  to  yield  ; — No  !  never  will  he  find 
Again  on  earth  such  pleasure  in  his  mind  : 
He  goes  through  shrubby  walks  these  friends  among, 
Love  in  their  looks  and  honour  on  the  tongue  : 
Nay,  there 's  a  charm  beyond  what  nature  shows, 
The  bloom  is  softer  and  more  sweetly  glows  ; 
Pierced  by  no  crime  and  urged  by  no  desire 
For  more  than  true  and  honest  hearts  require. 
They  feel  the  calm  delight,  and  thus  proceed 
Through  the  green  hine,— then  linger  in  the  mead, — 
Stray  o'er  the  heath  in  :ill  its  purple  bloom, — 
And  i^luck  the  blossom  where  the  wild  bees  hum  ; 
Then  through  the  brooray  bound  with  ease  they  pass, 
And  press  the  sandy  sheep-walk's  slender  grass. 
Where  dwarfish  flowers  among  the  grass  are  spread. 
And  the  lamb  browses  by  the  linnet's  bed  ; 
Then  'cross  the  bounding  brook  they  make  their  way 
O'er  its  rough  bridge — 'and  there  behold  the  bay  ! — 
The  ocean  smiling  to  the  fervid  sun — 
The  waves  that  faintly  fall  and  slowly  run — 
The  ships  at  distance  and  the  boats  at  hand  ; 
And  now  they  walk  upon  the  sea-side  sand. 
Counting  the  number,  and  what  kind  they  be. 
Ships  softly  sinking  in  the  sleepy  sea  : 
Now  arm  in  arm,  now  parted,  they  behold 
The  glittering  waters  on  the  shingles  rolled  : 
The  timid  girls,  half  dreading  their  design. 
Dip  the  small  foot  in  the  retarded  brine, 
And  search  for  crimson  weeds,  which  spreading  flow, 
Or  lie  like  pictures  on  the  sand  below  : 


112  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

With  all  those  bright  red  pebbles,  that  the  sun, 
Tlirough  the  small  waves  so  softly  shines  upon  ; 
And  those  live  lucid  jellies  which  the  eye 
Delights  to  trace  as  they  swim  glittering  by  : 
Pearl-shells  and  rubied  star-fish  they  admire, 
And  will  arrange  above  the  parlour  fire, — 
Tokens  of  bliss  ! — '  Oh  !  horrible  !  a  wave 
Roars  as  it  rises — save  me,  Edward  !  save  ! ' 
She  cries  : — Alas  !  the  watchman  on  his  way 
Calls  and  lets  in — truth,  terror,  and  the  day  ! " 

Allowing  for  a  certain  melodramatic  climax  here 
led  up  to,  we  cannot  deny  the  impressiveness  of  this 
picture — the  first-hand  quality  of  its  observation,  and 
an  eye  for  beauty,  which  his  critics  are  rarely  disposed 
to  allow  to  Crabbe.  A  narrative  of  equal  pathos, 
and  once  equally  celebrated,  is  that  of  the  village-girl 
who  receives  back  her  sailor-lover  from  his  last  voyage, 
only  to  watch  over  his  dying  hours.  It  is  in  an 
earlier  section  (No.  ii.  The  Church),  beginning  : 

Yes  !  there  are  real  mourners — I  have  seen 
A  fair  sad  girl,  mild,  suffering,  and  serene," 

too  long  to  quote  in  full,  and,  as  with  Crabbe's  method 
generally,  not  admitting  of  being  fairly  represented 
by  extracts.  Then  there  are  sketches  of  character 
in  quite  a  different  vein,  such  as  the  vicar,  evidently 
drawn  from  life.  He  is  the  good  easy  man,  popular 
with  the  ladies  for  a  kind  of  fade  complimentary  style 
in  which  he  excels ;  the  man  of  "  mild  benevolence," 
strongly  opposed  to  every  thing  new : 

"  Habit  with  him  was  all  the  test  of  truth  : 
'  It  must  be  right :  I  've  done  it  from  my  youth.' 
Questions  he  answered  in  as  brief  a  way  : 
'  It  nmst  be  wrong — it  was  of  yesterday.' '' 


VII.]  THE  BOBOUOH  113 

Feeble  good-nature,  and  selfish  unwillingness  to  dis- 
turb any  existing  habits  or  conventions,  make  up  his 
character : 

"  In  him  his  flock  found  nothing  to  condemn  ; 
Him  sectaries  liked— he  never  troubled  them  : 
No  triHes  failed  his  yielding  mind  to  please. 
And  all  his  passions  sunk  in  early  ease  ; 
Nor  one  so  old  has  left  this  world  of  sin, 
More  like  the  being  that  he  entered  in." 

An  excellent  companion  sketch  to  that  of  the  dilet- 
tante vicar  is  provided  in  that  of  the  poor  curate — the 
scholar,  gentleman,  and  devout  Christian,  struggling 
against  abject  poverty  to  support  his  large  family. 
The  picture  drawn  by  Crabbe  has  a  separate  and 
interesting  origin.  A  year  before  the  appearance  of 
The  Borough,  one  of  the  managers  of  the  Literary  Fund, 
an  institution  then  of  some  twenty  years'  standing, 
and  as  yet  without  its  charter,  applied  to  Crabbe  for  a 
copy  of  verses  that  might  be  appropriate  for  recitation 
at  the  annual  dinner  of  the  Society,  held  at  the 
Freemasons'  Tavern.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  society 
to  admit  such  literary  diversions  as  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment. The  notorious  William  Thomas  Fitzgerald 
had  been  for  many  years  the  regular  contributor  of 
the  poem,  and  his  efforts  on  the  occasion  are  remem- 
bered, if  only  through  the  opening  couplet  of  Byron's 
English  Bard>i  and  Scotch  Revieivers,  where  Fitzgerald  is 
firibbeted  as  the  Codrus  of  Juvenal's  satire  : 

"  Still  must  I  hear  ?  shall  hoarse  Fitzgerald  bawl 
His  creaking  couplets  in  a  Tavern-Hall  1 " 

His  poem  for  this  year,  1809,  is  printed  at  length  in 
the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  April— and  also  Ciabbe's, 
recited  at  the  same  dinner.     Crabbe  seems  to  have 

H 


114  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

composed  it  for  the  occasion,  but  with  the  intention  of 
ultimately  weaving  it  into  the  poem  on  which  he  was 
then  engaged.  A  paragraph  prefixed  to  the  lines  also 
shows  that  Crabbe  had  a  further  object  in  view. 
"The  Founder  of  this  Society  having  intimated  a 
hope  that,  on  a  plan  which  he  has  already  communi- 
cated to  his  particular  Friends,  its  Funds  may  be 
sufficiently  ample  to  afford  assistance  and  relief  to 
learned  ofl&ciating  Clergymen  in  distress,  though  they 
may  not  have  actually  commenced  Authors  —  the 
Author,  in  allusion  to  this  hope,  has  introduced  into 
a  Poem  which  he  is  preparing  for  the  Press  the  follow- 
incr  character  of  a  learned  Divine  in  distress." 

Crabbe's  lines  bearing  on  the  proposed  scheme  (which 
seems  for  a  time  at  least  to  have  been  adopted  by  the 
administrators  of  the  Fund)  were  left  standing  when 
The  Borough  was  published,  M'ith  an  explanatory  note. 
They  are  effective  for  their  purpose,  the  pathos  of  them 
is  genuine,  and  worthy  of  attention  even  in  these 
latter  days  of  the  "Queen  Victoria  Clergy  Fund." 
The  speaker  is  the  curate  himself  : 

"  Long  may  these  founts  of  Charity  remain. 
And  never  shrink,  but  to  be  filled  again  ; 
True  !  to  the  Author  they  are  now  confined, 
To  him  who  gave  the  treasure  of  his  mind. 
His  time,  his  health, — and  thankless  found  mankind  : 
But  there  is  hope  that  from  these  founts  may  flow 
A  side-way  stream,  and  equal  good  bestow  ; 
Good  that  may  reach  us,  whom  the  day's  distress 
Keeps  from  the  fame  and  perils  of  the  Press  ; 
Whom  Study  beckons  from  the  Ills  of  Life, 
And  they  from  Study  ;  melancholy  strife  ! 
Who  then  can  say,  but  bounty  now  so  free, 
And  so  diff"used,  may  find  its  way  to  me  'i 


VII.]  THE  BO  ROUGH  116 

Yes  !  I  may  see  my  decent  taljle  yet 

Cheered  with  the  meal  that  adds  not  to  my  debt ; 

May  talk  of  those  to  whom  so  much  we  owe, 

And  guess  their  names  wliom  yet  we  may  not  know  ; 

Blest,  we  shall  say,  are  those  who  tluis  can  give, 

And  next,  who  thus  upon  the  bounty  live  ; 

Then  shall  I  close  with  thanks  my  humble  meal. 

And  feel  so  well— Oh  !  God  !  how  shall  I  feel  ! " 

Crabbe  is  known  to  most  readers  to-day  by  the 
delightful  parody  of  his  style  in  the  Rejected  Addresses, 
which  appeared  in  the  autumn  of  1812,  and  it  was 
certainly  on  The  Borough  that  James  Smith  based  his 
imitation.  We  all  remember  the  incident  of  Pat 
Jennings's  adventure  in  the  gallery  of  the  tlieatre. 
The  manner  of  the  narrative  is  borrowed  from  Crabbe's 
lighter  and  more  colloquial  style.  Every  little  foible 
of  the  poet,  when  in  this  vein,  is  copied  with  great  skill. 
The  superfluity  of  information,  as  in  the  case  of — 
"John  Richard  William  Alexander  Dwyer," 

whose  only  place  in  the  narrative  is  that  he  preceded 
Pat  Jennings's  father  in  the  situation  as 

"  Footman  to  Justinian  Stubbs,  Esquire  "  ; 
or  again  in  the  detail  that, 

"  Emanuel  Jennings  brought  his  youngest  boy 
Up  as  a  corn-cutter — a  safe  employ  " 

(a  perfect  Crabbian  couplet),  is  imitated  througliout. 
Crabbe's  habit  of  frequent  verbal  antithesis,  and  even 
of  something  like  punning,  is  exactly  caught  in  such  a 
couplet  as : 

"  Big-worded  bullies  who  bj'  quarrels  live — 
Who  give  the  lie,  and  tell  the  lie  they  give." 

Much  of   the  jxirody,  no  doubt,  exhibits  the  fanciful 


116  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

humour  of  the  brothers  Smith,  rather  than  of  Crabbe, 
as  is  the  ease  with  many  parodies.  Of  course  there 
are  couplets  here  and  there  in  Crab1)c's  narratives 
which  justify  the  burlesque.     We  have  : 

"  What  is  the  truth  ?     Old  Jacob  married  thrice  ; 
He  dealt  in  coals,  and  avarice  was  his  vice," 

or  the  lines  which  the  parodists  themselves  quote  in 
their  justification, 

"  Something  had  happened  wrong  about  a  Bill 
Which  was  not  drawn  with  true  mercantile  skill, 
So  to  amend  it  I  was  told  to  go, 
And  seek  the  firm  of  Clutterbuck  and  Co." 

But  lines  such  as  these  in  fact  occur  only  at  long 
intervals.  Crabbe's  couplets  are  more  often  pedestrian 
rather  than  grotesque. 

The  poet  himself,  as  the  witty  brothers  relate  with 
some  pride,  was  by  no  means  displeased  or  offended 
by  the  liberty  taken.  When  they  met  in  later  years 
at  William  Spencer's,  Crabbe  hurried  to  meet  James 
Smith  with  outstretched  hand,  "  Ah !  my  old  enemy, 
how  do  you  do  1 "  Again,  writing  to  a  friend  who 
had  expressed  some  indignation  at  the  parody,  Crabbe 
complained  only  of  the  preface.  "There  is  a  little 
ill-nature — and  I  take  the  liberty  of  adding,  unde- 
served ill-nature — in  their  prefatory  address ;  but  in 
their  versification  they  have  done  me  admirably." 
Here  Crabbe  shows  a  slight  lack  of  self-knowledge. 
For  when  to  the  Letter  on  Trades  the  following  extenu- 
ating postscript  is  found  necessary,  there  would  seem 
to  be  hardly  any  room  for  the  parodist : 

"  If  I  have  ill  this  Letter  praised  the  good-humour  of  a  man 
confessedly  too  inattentive  to  business,  and  if  in  the  one  on 


VII.]  THE  BOROUOII  117 

Amusements,  I  have  written  somewhat  sarcastically  of  'tho 
brick-floored  parlour  which  the  butcher  lets,'  be  credit  given 
to  me  that  in  the  one  case  I  had  no  intention  to  apologise  for 
idleness,  nor  any  design  in  the  other  to  treat  with  contempt 
the  resources  of  the  poor.  The  good-humour  is  considered  as 
the  consolation  of  disappointment :  and  the  room  is  so  men- 
tioned because  the  lodger  is  vain.  Most  of  my  readers  will 
perceive  this  ;  but  I  shall  be  sorry  if  liy  any  I  am  supposed  to 
make  pleas  for  the  vices  of  men,  or  treat  their  wants  and 
infirmities  with  derision  or  with  disdain." 

After  this,  Cnibhe  himself  might  have  admitted 
that  the  descent  is  not  very  fur  to  the  parodist's 
delightful  apology  for  the  change  from  "one  haut- 
boy "  to  "  one  fiddle  "  in  the  description  of  the  band. 
The  subsequent  explanation,  how  the  poet  had 
purposely  intertwined  the  various  handkerchiefs  which 
rescued  Pat  Jennings's  hat  from  the  pit,  lest  the  real 
owner  should  be  detected,  and  the  reason  for  it,  is  a 
not  less  exquisite  piece  of  fooling: — "For,  in  the 
statistical  view  of  life  and  mainacrs  which  I  occasionally 
present,  my  clerical  profession  has  taught  me  how 
extremely  improper  it  would  be  by  any  allusion,  how- 
ever slight,  to  give  any  uneasiness,  however  trivial,  to 
any  individual,  however  foolish  or  wicked."  It  might 
perhaps  be  inferred  from  such  effusions  as  arc  here 
parodied  that  Crabbe  was  lacking  in  a  sense  of 
humour.  This  would  certainly  be  too  sweeping  an 
inference,  for  in  many  of  his  sketches  of  human  char- 
acter he  gives  unmistakable  proof  to  the  contrary. 
But  the  talent  in  question — often  so  recklessly  awarded 
or  denied  to  us  by  our  fcllo\v-creatures — is  very 
variable  in  the  spheres  of  its  operation.  The  sense  of 
humour  is  in  its  essence,  as  we  have  often  been  told, 
largely  a  sense  of  proportion,  and  in  this  sense  Crabbe 


118  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

Wcas  certainly  deficient.  The  want  of  it  accounts  for 
much  more  in  his  writings  than  for  his  prose  notes  and 
prefaces.  It  explains  much  of  the  diffuseness  and 
formlessness  of  his  poetry,  and  his  inability  to  grasp 
the  great  truth  how  much  the  half  may  be  greater 
than  the  whole. 

In  spite,  however,  of  these  defects,  and  of  the 
inequalities  of  the  workmanship,  The  Borough  was 
from  the  first  a  success.  The  poem  appeared  in 
February  1810,  and  went  through  six  editions  in  the 
next  six  years.  It  does  not  indeed  present  an 
alluring  picture  of  life  in  the  provinces.  It  even 
reminds  us  of  a  saying  of  Tennyson's,  that  if  God 
made  the  country,  and  man  made  the  city,  then  it  was 
the  devil  who  made  the  country-town.  To  travel 
through  the  borough  from  end  to  end  is  to  pass 
through  much  ignoble  scenery,  human  and  other,  and 
under  a  cloudy  heaven,  with  only  rare  gleams  of  sun- 
shine, and  patches  of  blue  sky.  These,  when  they 
occur,  are  proportionably  welcome.  They  include 
some  exquisite  descriptions  of  nature,  though  with 
Crabbe  it  will  bo  noticed  that  it  is  always  the  nature 
close  about  his  feet,  the  hedge-row,  the  meadow,  the 
cottage-garden :  as  his  son  has  noted,  his  outlook 
never  extends  to  the  landscape  beyond. 

In  the  respects  just  mentioned,  the  qualities  ex- 
hibited in  the  new  poem  have  been  noticed  before  in 
The  Village  and  The  Parish  Bcgister.  In  The  Borough, 
however,  appear  some  maturer  specimens  of  this 
power,  showing  how  Crabbe's  art  was  perfecting  by 
practice.  Very  noticeable  are  the  sections  devoted  to 
the  almshouse  of  the  borough  and  its  inhabitants.  Its 
founder,  an   eccentric  and  philanthropic  merchant  of 


vn.]  THE  BOROUGH  119 

the  place,  as  well  as  the  tenants  of  the  almshouse 
whose  descriptions  follow,  arc  all  avowedly,  like  most 
other  characters  in  Crabbe,  drawn  from  life.  The 
pious  founder,  being  left  without  wife  or  children,  lives 
in  apparent  penury,  but  while  driving  all  beggars  from 
his  door,  devotes  his  wealth  to  secret  acts  of  helpful- 
ness to  all  his  poorer  neighbours  in  distress : — 

"  A  twofold  taste  he  had  ;  to  give  and  spare, 
Both  were  his  duties,  and  had  equal  care  ; 
It  was  his  joy  to  sit  alone  and  fast. 
Then  send  a  widow  and  her  boys  repast : 
Tears  in  his  eyes  would,  spite  of  him,  appear, 
But  he  from  other  eyes  has  kept  the  tear  : 
All  in  a  wintry  night  from  far  he  came 
To  soothe  the  sorrows  of  a  suffering  dame. 
Whose  husband  robbed  him,  and  to  whom  he  meant 
A  lingering,  but  reforming  punishment : 
Home  then  he  walked,  and  found  his  anger  rise 
When  fire  and  rushlight  met  his  troubled  eyes  ; 
But  these  extinguished,  and  his  prayer  addressed 
To  Heaven  in  hope,  he  calmly  sank  to  rest.' 

The  good  man  lived  on,  until,  when  his  seventieth 
year  was  past,  a  building  was  seen  rising  on  the  green 
north  of  the  village — an  almshouse  for  old  men  and 
women  of  the  borough,  who  had  struggled  in  life  and 
failed.  Having  built  and  endowed  this  harbour  of 
refuge,  and  placed  its  government  in  the  hands  of  six 
trustees,  the  modest  donor  and  the  pious  lady-relative 
who  had  shared  in  his  good  works  passed  quietly  out 
of  life. 

This  prelude  is  followed  l)y  an  account  of  the  trustees 
who  succeeded  to  the  management  after  the  founder's 
death,  among  them  a  Sir  Denys  Brand,  a  lavish  donor 
to  the    town,  but  as  vulgar   and  ostentatious  as  the 


120  CRABBE  [chap. 

founder  had  been  humble  and  modest.  This  man 
defeats  the  intentions  of  the  founder  by  admitting  to 
the  almshouses  persons  of  the  shadiest  antecedents,  on 
the  ground  that  they  at  least  had  been  conspicuous 
in  their  day  : 

"  Not  men  in  trade  by  various  loss  brought  down, 
But  those  whose  glory  once  amazed  the  town  ; 
Who  their  last  guinea  in  their  pleasure  spent, 
Yet  never  fell  so  low  as  to  repent : 
To  these  his  pity  he  could  largely  deal. 
Wealth  they  had  known,  and  therefore  want  could  feel." 

From  this  unfit  class  of  pensioner  Crabbe  selects 
three  for  his  minute  analysis  of  character.  They  are,  as 
usual,  of  a  very  sordid  type.  The  first,  a  man  named 
"Blaney,"  had  his  prototype  in  a  half-pay  major 
known  to  Crabbe  in  his  Aldeburgh  days,  and  even  the 
tolerant  Jeffrey  held  that  the  character  was  rather  too 
shameless  for  poetical  treatment.  The  next  inmate 
in  order,  a  woman  also  drawn  from  the  living  model, 
and  disguised  under  the  title  of  Clclia,  is  a  study  of 
character  and  career,  drawn  with  consummate  skill. 
Certain  abortive  attempts  of  Crabbe  to  write  prose 
fiction  have  been  already  mentioned.  But  this  narrative 
of  the  gradual  degradation  of  a  coquette  of  the  lower 
middle  class  shows  that  Crabbe  possessed  at  least  some 
of  the  best  qualities  of  a  great  novelist.  Clelia  is,  in 
fact,  a  kind  of  country-town  Becky  Sharp,  whose  wiles 
and  schemes  are  not  destined  to  end  in  a  white-washed 
reputation  at  a  fashionable  watering-place.  On  the 
contrary  she  falls  from  one  ignominy  to  another  until, 
by  a  gross  abuse  of  a  public  charity,  she  ends  her  days 
in  the  almshouse ! 


VII.]  THE  BOROUGH  121 

One  further  instance  may  be  cited  of  Crablte's  per- 
sistent effort  to  awaken  attention  to  the  prol)leni  of 
poor-law  relief.  In  his  day  the  question,  both  as  to 
policy  and  humanity,  between  indoor  and  outdoor 
relief,  was  still  unsettled.  In  Tlic  Borough,  as  described, 
many  of  the  helpless  poor  were  relieved  at  their  own 
homes.  But  a  new  scheme,  "  The  maintenance  of  the 
poor  in  a  common  mansion  erected  by  the  Hundred," 
seems  to  have  been  in  force  in  Suffolk,  and  up  to  that 
time  confined  to  that  county.  It  diftered  from  the 
workhouse  of  to-day  apparently  in  this  respect,  that 
there  was  not  even  an  attempt  to  separate  the  young 
and  old,  the  sick  and  the  healthy,  the  criminal  and 
vicious  from  the  respectable  and  honest.  Yet  Crabbe's 
powerful  picture  of  the  misery  thus  caused  to  the 
deserving  class  of  inmate  is  not  without  its  lesson 
even  after  nearly  a  century  during  which  thought 
and  humanity  have  been  continually  at  work  upon 
such  problems.  The  loneliness  and  weariness  of  work- 
house existence  passed  by  the  aged  poor,  separated 
from  kinsfolk  and  friends,  in  "the  day-room  of  a 
London  workhouse,"  have  been  lately  set  forth  by 
Miss  Edith  Sellers,  in  the  pages  of  the  Nineteenth  Century, 
with  a  pathetic  incisiveness  not  less  striking  than 
that  of  the  following  passage  from  the  Eighteenth 
Letter  of  Crabbe's  Borough : — 

"  Who  can,  when  here,  the  social  neighbour  meet  ? 

Who  learn  the  story  current  in  the  street? 

Who  to  the  long-known  intimate  impart 

Facts  they  have  learned,  or  feelings  of  the  heart  ? 

They  talk  indeed,  but  who  can  choose  a  friend. 

Or  seek  companions  at  their  journey's  end  ? 

Here  are  not  those  whom  they  when  infants  knew  ; 

Who,  with  like  fortune,  up  to  manhood  grew  ; 


122  CRABBE  ichap. 

Who,  witli  like  troubles,  at  old  age  arrived  ; 
Who,  like  themselves,  the  joy  of  life  survived  ; 
Whom  time  and  custom  so  familiar  made, 
That  looks  the  meaniug  in  the  mind  convej'ed  : 
But  here  to  strangers,  words  nor  looks  impart 
The  various  movements  of  the  suifering  heart ; 
Nor  will  that  heart  with  those  alliance  own, 
To  whom  its  views  and  hopes  are  all  unknown. 
What,  if  no  grievous  fears  their  lives  annoy, 
Is  it  not  worse  no  prospects  to  enjoy  ? 
'Tis  cheerless  living  in  such  bounded  view, 
With  nothing  dreadful,  but  with  nothing  new  ; 
Nothing  to  bring  them  joy,  to  make  them  weep  ; 
The  day  itself  is,  like  the  night,  asleep." 

The  essence  of  workhouse  monotony  has  surely  never 
been  better  indicated  than  here. 

The  Borough  did  much  to  spread  Crabbe's  reputation 
while  he  remained,  doing  his  duty  to  the  best  of  his 
ability  and  knowledge,  in  the  quiet  loneliness  of  the 
Vale  of  Bclvoir,  but  his  growing  fame  lay  far  outside 
the  boundaries  of  his  parish.  When,  a  few  years  later, 
he  visited  London  and  was  received  with  general  wel- 
come by  the  distinguished  world  of  literature  and  the 
arts,  he  was  much  surprised.  "  In  my  own  village," 
he  told  James  Smith,  "they  think  nothing  of  me." 
The  three  years  following  the  publication  of  The 
Borough  were  specially  lonely.  He  had,  indeed,  his 
two  sons,  George  and  John,  with  him.  They  had  both 
passed  through  Cambridge — one  at  Trinity  and  the 
other  at  Caius,  and  were  now  in  holy  orders.  Each 
held  a  curacy  in  the  near  neighbourhood,  enabling 
them  to  live  under  the  parental  roof.  But  Mrs. 
Crabbe's  condition  was  now  increasingly  sad,  her  mind 
being  almost  gone.     There  was  no  daughter,  and  we 


VII.]  TTfE  BOROUOH  123 

hear  of  no  other  female  relative  at  hand  to  assist 
Ciablic  ill  the  constant  watching  of  the  patient.  Tlii.s 
circunistancc  alone  limited  his  opportunities  of  accejit- 
ing  the  hospitalities  of  the  neighbourhood,  though  with 
the  Welliys  and  other  county  families,  as  well  as  with 
the  surrounding  clergy,  he  was  a  welcome  guest. 

The  Borough  appeared  in  February  1810,  and  the 
reviewers  were  prompt  in  their  attention.  The  Edin- 
burgh reviewed  the  poem  in  April  of  the  same  year, 
and  the  (jiuirferhj  followed  in  October.  Jeflfrey  had 
already  noticed  The  Parish  liegister  in  1808.  The  critic's 
admiration  of  Crabbe  had  been,  and  remained  to  the 
end,  cordial  and  sincere.  But  now,  in  reviewing  the  new 
volume,  a  note  of  warning  appears.  The  critic  finds 
himself  obliged  to  admit  that  the  current  objections  to 
Crabl)c'.s  treatment  of  country  life  are  well  founded. 
"  His  chief  fault,"  he  says,  "  is  his  frequent  lapse  into 
disgusting  representations."  All  powerful  and  pathetic 
poetry,  Jeffrey  admits,  abounds  in  "images  of  dis- 
tress," but  these  images  must  never  excite  "disgust," 
for  that  is  fatal  to  the  ends  which  poetry  was  meant  to 
produce.  A  few  months  later  the  Quarterly  followed  in 
the  same  strain,  but  went  on  to  preach  a  more  question- 
able doctrine.  The  critic  in  fact  lays  down  the  extra- 
ordinary canon  that  the  function  of  Poetry  is  not  to 
present  any  truth,  if  it  happens  to  be  unpleasant,  but 
to  substitute  an  agreeable  illusion  in  its  place.  "AVe 
turn  to  poetry,"  he  says,  "  not  that  we  may  see  and 
feel  what  we  see  and  feel  in  our  daily  experience,  but 
that  we  may  be  refreshed  by  other  emotions,  and  fairer 
prospects,  that  we  may  take  shelter  from  the  realities 
of  life  in  the  paradise  of  Fancy." 

The  appearance  of  these  two  prominent  reviews  to 


124  CRABBE  [chap. 

a  certain  extent  influenced  the  direction  of  Crabbe's 
genius  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  He  evidently- 
had  given  them  earnest  consideration,  and  in  the 
preface  to  the  Tales,  his  next  production,  he  attempted 
something  like  an  answer  to  each.  Without  mention- 
ing any  names  he  replies  to  Jeffrey  in  the  first  part  of 
his  preface,  and  to  the  Quarterly  reviewer  in  the 
second.  Jeffrey  had  expressed  a  hope  that  Crabbe 
would  in  future  concentrate  his  powers  upon  some 
interesting  and  connected  story.  "  At  present  it  is 
impossible  not  to  regret  that  so  much  genius  should  be 
wasted  in  making  us  perfectly  acquainted  with  indi- 
viduals of  whom  we  are  to  know  nothing  but  their 
characters."  Crabbe  in  reply  makes  what  was  really 
the  best  apology  for  not  accepting  this  advice.  He 
intimates  that  he  had  already  made  the  experiment, 
but  without  success.  His  peculiar  gifts  did  not  fit 
him  for  it.  As  he  wrote  the  words,  he  doubtless  had 
in  mind  the  many  prose  romances  that  he  had  written, 
and  then  consigned  to  the  flames.  The  short  story,  or 
rather  the  exhibition  of  a  single  character  developed 
through  a  few  incidents,  he  felt  to  be  the  method  that 
fitted  his  talent  best. 

Crabbe  then  proceeds  to  deal  with  the  question, 
evidently  implied  by  the  Quarterly  reviewer,  how  far 
many  passages  in  The  Borough,  when  concerned  with 
low  life,  were  really  poetry  at  all.  Crabbe  pleads  in 
reply  the  example  of  other  English  poets,  whose 
claim  to  the  title  liad  never  been  disputed.  He  cites 
Chaucer,  who  had  depicted  very  low  life  indeed,  and 
in  the  same  rhymed  metre.  "If  all  that  kind  of 
satire  wherein  character  is  skilfully  delineated,  must 
no  longer  be  esteemed  as  genuine  poetry,"  then  what 


VII.]  THE  BOROUGH  125 

becomes  of  the  author  of  TJie  Canterhury  Tales  1  Crablje 
could  not  supply,  or  he  expected  to  supply,  the  answer 
to  this  question.  He  could  not  discern  that  the 
treatment  is  everything,  and  that  Chaucer  was  endowed 
with  many  qualities  denied  to  himself — the  spirit  of 
joyousness  and  the  love  of  sunshine,  and  together  with 
these,  gifts  of  humour  and  pathos  to  which  Crabbe  could 
make  no  pretension.  From  Chaucer,  Crabbe  passes  to 
the  great  but  very  different  master,  on  whom  he  had 
first  built  his  style.  Was  Pope,  then,  not  a  poet, 
seeing  that  he  too  has  "  no  small  portion  of  this 
actuality  of  relation,  this  nudity  of  description,  and 
poetry  without  an  atmosphere "  ?  Here  again,  of 
course,  Crabbe  overlooks  one  essential  difference  be- 
tween himself  and  his  model.  Both  were  keen-sighted 
students  of  character,  and  both  described  sordid  and 
■worldly  am1)itions.  But  Pope  was  strongest  exactly 
where  Crabbe  was  weak.  He  had  achieved  absolute 
mastery  of  form,  and  could  condense  into  a  couplet 
some  truth  which  Crabbe  expanded,  often  excellently, 
in  a  hundred  lines  of  very  unequal  workmanship.  The 
Quarterly  reviewer  quotes,  as  admirable  of  its  kind, 
the  description  in  The  Borough  of  the  card-club,  with 
the  bickerings  and  ill-nature  of  the  old  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  frequented  it.  It  is  in  truth  very 
graphic,  and  no  doubt  absolutely  faithful  to  life ;  but 
it  is  rather  metrical  fiction  than  poetry.  There  is 
more  of  the  essence  of  poetry  in  a  single  couplet  of 
Pope's : 

"  See  how  the  world  its  veterans  rewards— 
A  youth  of  frolics,  an  old  age  of  cards." 

For  here  the   expression   is   faultless,  and   Pope    has 


126  CRABBE  [chap. 

educed    an    eternally    pathetic    truth,    of    universal 
application. 

Even  had  the  gentle  remonstrances  of  the  two 
reviewers  never  been  expressed,  it  would  seem  as  if 
Crabbe  had  already  arrived  at  somewhat  similar  con- 
clusions on  his  own  account.  At  the  time  the  reviews 
appeared,  the  whole  of  the  twenty-one  Talrn  to  be 
published  in  August  1812  were  already  written. 
Crabbe  had  perceived  that  if  he  was  to  retain  the 
admiring  public  he  had  won,  he  must  break  fresh 
ground.  Aldeburgh  was  played  out.  It  had  provided 
abundant  material  and  been  an  excellent  training- 
ground  for  Crabbe's  powers.  But  he  had  discovered 
that  there  were  other  fields  worth  cultivating  besides 
that  of  the  hard  lots  of  the  very  poor.  He  had  associ- 
ated in  his  later  years  with  a  class  above  these — not 
indeed  with  the  "  upper  ten,"  save  when  he  dined 
at  Belvoir  Castle,  but  with  classes  lying  between 
these  two  extremes.  He  had  come  to  feel  more  and 
more  the  fascination  of  analysing  human  character 
and  motives  among  his  equals.  He  had  a  singularly 
retentive  memory,  and  the  habit  of  noting  and  brood- 
ing over  incidents — specially  of  "life's  little  ironies" — 
wherever  he  encountered  them.  He  does  not  seem  to 
have  possessed  much  originating  power.  When,  a  few 
years  later,  his  friend  Mrs.  Leadbeater  inquired  of  him 
whether  the  characters  in  his  various  poems  were 
drawn  from  life,  he  replied: — "Yes,  I  will  tell  you 
readily  about  my  ventures,  whom  I  endeavour  to 
paint  as  nearly  as  I  could,  and  dare — for  in  some  cases 
I  dared  not.  .  .  .  Thus  far  you  are  correct :  there  is  not 
one  of  whom  I  had  not  in  my  mind  the  original,  but  I 
was  obliged  in    most  cases  to  take  them  from  their 


vii.]  THE  BOROUGH  127 

real  situations,  and  in  one  or  two  instances  even  to 
change  their  sex,  and  in  many,  the  circumstances.  .  .  . 
Indeed  I  do  not  know  that  I  could  paint  merely  from 
my  own  fancy,  and  there  is  no  cause  why  I  should. 
Is  there  not  diversity  enough  in  society  1 " 


CHAPTER   VIII 

TALES 

(1812) 

Crabbe's  new  volume — "Tales,  By  the  Rev.  George 
Crabbe,  LL.B." — was  published  by  Mr.  Hatchard  of 
Piccadilly  in  the  summer  of  1812.  It  received  a  warm 
welcome  from  the  poet's  admirers,  and  was  reviewed, 
most  appreciatively,  by  Jeffrey  in  the  Edinburgh  for 
November.  The  Tales  Avcre  twenty-one  in  number,  and 
to  each  was  prefixed  a  series,  often  four  or  five,  of 
quotations  from  Shakespeare,  illustrating  the  incidents 
in  the  Tales,  or  the  character  there  depicted.  Crabbe's 
knowledge  of  Shakespeare  must  have  been  in  those 
days,  when  concordances  were  not,  very  remarkable, 
for  he  quotes  by  no  means  always  from  the  best  known 
plays,  and  he  was  not  a  frequenter  of  the  theatre. 
Crabbe  had  of  late  studied  human  nature  in  books  as 
well  as  in  life. 

As  already  remarked,  the  Tales  are  often  built  upon 
events  in  his  own  family,  or  else  occurring  within 
their  knowledge.  The  second  in  order  of  publication. 
The  Parting  Hour,  arose  out  of  an  incident  in  the  life 
of  the  poet's  own  brother,  which  is  thus  related  in  the 
notes  to  the  edition  of  1834  : 

"Mr.  Crabbe's  fourth  brother,  William,  taking  to  a  sea- 
faring life,   was  made  prisoner   by  the   Spaniards :   he  was 
128 


VIII.]  TALES  129 

carried  to  Mexico,  where  he  became  a  silversmith,  married, 
and  prospered,  imtil  his  increasing  riches  attracted  a  charge 
of  Protestantism  ;  the  consequence  of  which  was  much  ])er- 
secution.  He  at  last  was  obliged  to  abandon  Mexico,  his 
property,  and  his  family  ;  and  was  discovered  in  the  year 
1803  by  an  Aldeburgh  sailor  on  the  coast  of  Honduras, 
where  again  he  seems  to  have  found  some  success  in  business. 
This  sailor  was  the  only  person  he  had  seen  for  many  a  year 
who  could  tell  him  anything  about  Aldeburgh  and  his  family, 
and  great  was  his  perplexity  when  he  was  informed  that  his 
eldest  brother,  George,  was  a  clergyman.  '  This  Ciinnot  be 
our  George,'  said  the  wanderer,  '  he  was  a  Doctor  ! '  This  was 
the  first,  and  it  was  also  the  last,  tidings  that  ever  reached 
Mr.  Crabbe  of  his  brother  William  ;  and  upon  the  Alde- 
burgh sailor's  story  of  his  casual  interview,  it  is  obvious  that 
he  built  tliis  tale." 

The  story  as  developed  by  Crabbe  is  pathetic  and 
picturesque,  reminding  us  in  its  central  interest  of 
Enoch  Arden.  Allen  Booth,  the  youngest  son  of  his 
parents  dwelling  in  a  small  seaport,  falls  early  in 
love  with  a  child  schoolfellow,  for  whom  his  affection 
never  falters.  AVhen  grown  up  the  young  man  accepts 
an  offer  from  a  prosperous  kinsman  in  the  West  Indies 
to  join  him  in  his  business.  His  beloved  sees  him 
depart  with  many  misgivings,  though  their  mutual 
devotion  was  never  to  fade.  She  does  not  see  him 
again  for  forty  years,  when  he  returns,  like  Arden,  to 
his  "  native  bay," 

"A  worn-out  man  with  wither'd  limbs  and  lame, 
His  mind  oppress'd  with  woes,  and  bent  with  age  his  frame." 

He  finds  his  old  love,  who  had  been  faithful  to  her 
engagement  for  ten  years,  and  then  (believing  Allen 
to  be  dead)  had  married.  She  is  now  a  widow,  with 
grown-up  children  scattered  through  the  world,  and  is 

I 


130  CRABBE  [chap. 

alone.  Allen  then  tells  his  sad  story.  The  ship  in 
which  he  sailed  from  England  had  been  taken  by  the 
Spaniards,  and  he  had  been  carried  a  slave  to  the  West 
Indies,  where  he  worked  in  a  silver  mine,  improved  his 
position  under  a  kind  master,  and  finally  married  a 
Spanish  girl,  hopeless  of  ever  returning  to  England 
though  still  unforo;etful  of  his  old  love.  He  accumu- 
lates  money,  and,  like  Crabbe's  brother,  incurs  the  envy 
of  his  Roman  Catholic  neighbours.  He  is  denounced 
as  a  heretic,  who  would  doubtless  bring  up  his  children 
in  the  accursed  English  faith.  On  his  refusal  to  become 
a  Catholic  he  is  expelled  the  country,  as  the  condition 
of  his  life  being  spared  : 

"  His  wife,  his  children,  weeping  in  his  sight. 
All  urging  him  to  flee,  he  fled,  and  cursed  hia  flight." 

After  many  adventures  he  falls  in  with  a  ship  bound 
for  England,  but  again  his  return  is  delayed.  He  is 
impressed  (it  was  war-time),  and  fights  for  his  country ; 
loses  a  limb,  is  again  left  upon  a  foreign  shore  where  his 
education  finds  him  occupation  as  a  clerk ;  and  finally, 
broken  with  age  and  toil,  finds  his  way  back  to  Eng- 
land, where  the  faithful  friend  of  his  youth  takes  care 
of  him  and  nurses  him  to  the  end.  The  situation  at 
the  close  is  very  touching — for  the  joy  of  re-union  is 
clouded  by  the  real  love  he  feels  for  the  Spanish  wife 
and  children  from  whom  he  had  been  torn,  and  who 
are  continually  present  to  him  in  his  dreams. 

Nor  is  the  treatment  inadequate.  It  is  at  once  dis- 
cernible how  much  Crabbe  had  already  gained  by  the 
necessity  for  concentration  upon  the  development  of 
a  story  instead  of  on  the  mere  analysis  of  character. 
The   style,    moreover,    has    clarified    and    gained    in 


viii.]  TALES  131 

dignity :  there  are  few,  if  any,  relapses  into  the 
homelier  style  on  which  the  parodist  could  try  his 
hand.  Had  the  author  of  Enoch  Ardea  treated  the 
same  theme  in  blank-verse,  the  workmanship  would 
have  been  finer,  but  ho  could  hardly  have  sounded 
a  truer  note  of  unexaggerated  pathos. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  beautiful  tale  of  The 
Lover's  Journey.  Here  again  is  the  product  of  an 
experience  belonging  to  Crabbe's  personal  history. 
In  his  early  Aldeburgh  days,  when  he  was  engaged 
to  Sarah  Elmy  with  but  faint  hope  of  ever  being  able 
to  marry,  it  was  one  of  the  rare  alleviations  of  his 
distressed  condition  to  walk  over  from  Aldeburgh  to 
Beccles  (some  twenty  miles  distant),  where  his  betrothed 
was  occasionally  a  visitor  to  her  mother  and  sisters. 
"It  was  in  his  walks,"  writes  the  son,  "between 
Aldeburgh  and  Beccles  that  Mr.  Crabbe  passed 
through  the  very  scenery  described  in  the  first  part 
of  The  Lover's  Journey ;  while  near  Beccles,  in  another 
direction,  he  found  the  contrast  of  rich  vegetation 
introduced  in  the  latter  part  of  that  tale;  nor  have 
I  any  doubt  that  the  disappointment  of  the  story 
figures  out  something  that,  on  one  of  these  visits, 
befell  himself,  and  the  feelings  with  which  he 
received  it. 

"  Gone  to  a  friend,  she  tells  me  ; — I  commend 
Her  purpose  :  means  she  to  a  female  friend  ? " 

For  truth  compels  me  to  say,  that  ho  was  by  no  means 
free  from  the  less  amiable  sign  of  a  strong  attachment 
— jealousy."  The  story  is  of  the  slightest — an  incident 
rather  than  a  story.  The  lover,  joyous  and  buoyant, 
traverses   the   dreary   coast   scenery    of   SufTolk,  and 


132  CRABBE  [ohap. 

because  he  is  happy,  finds  beauty  and  charm  in  the 
commonest  and  most  familiar  sights  and  sounds  of 
nature  :  every  single  hedge-row  blossom,  every  group 
of  children  at  their  play.  The  poem  is  indeed  an 
illustration  of  Coleridge's  lines  in  his  ode  Dejection : 

"  0  Lady,  we  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  Nature  live, — 
Ours  is  her  wedding-garment,  ours  her  shroud." 

All  along  the  road  to  his  beloved's  house,  nature 
wears  this  "  wedding-garment."  On  his  arrival,  how- 
ever, the  sun  fades  suddenly  from  the  landscape.  The 
lady  is  from  home  :  gone  to  visit  a  friend  a  few  miles 
distant,  not  so  far  but  that  her  lover  can  follow, — but 
the  slight,  real  or  imaginary,  probably  the  latter, 
comes  as  such  a  rebuff,  that  during  the  "little  more — 
how  far  away  !  "  that  he  travels,  the  country,  though 
now  richer  and  lovelier,  seems  to  him  (as  once  to 
Hamlet)  a  mere  "  pestilent  congregation  of  vapours." 
But  in  the  end  he  finds  his  mistress  and  learns  that 
she  had  gone  on  duty,  not  for  pleasure, — and  they 
return  happy  again,  and  so  happy  indeed,  that  he 
has  neither  eyes  nor  thoughts  for  any  of  nature's 
fertilities  or  barrennesses — only  for  the  dear  one  at 
his  side. 

I  have  already  had  occasion  to  quote  a  few  lines 
from  this  beautiful  poem,  to  show  Crabbe's  minute 
observation — in  his  time  so  rare — of  flowers  and  birds 
and  all  that  makes  the  charm  of  rural  scenery — but  I 
must  quote  some  more  : 

" '  Various  as  beauteous.  Nature,  is  thy  face,' 
Exclaim'd  Orlando  :  '  all  that  grows  has  grace  : 
All  are  appropriate — bog,  and  marsh,  and  fen, 
Are  only  poor  to  undisceming  men  ; 


via.]  TALKFi  133 

Here  may  tho  nice  and  curious  eye  explore 
How  Nature's  haml  adorns  the  rushy  moor  ; 
Here  the  rare  moss  in  secret  shade  is  found, 
Here  the  sweet  myrtle  of  the  shakin;,'  ;;roiind  ; 
Beauties  are  these  that  from  the  view  retire, 
But  well  repay  th' attention  they  require  ; 
For  these  my  Laura  will  her  home  forsake, 
And  all  the  pleasures  they  aflford,  partake.' " 

And  then  follows  a  masterly  description  of  a  gipsy 
encampment  on  which  the  lover  suddenly  comes  in 
his  travels.  Crabbe's  treatment  of  peasant  life  has 
often  been  compared  to  that  of  divers  painters — the 
Dutch  school,  Hogarth,  Wilkie,  and  others — and  the 
following  curiously  suggests  Frederick  Walker's  fine 
drawing,  The  Fajrants : 

"Again,  the  country  was  enclosed,  a  wide 
And  sandy  road  has  banks  on  either  side  ; 
Where,  lo  !  a  hollow  on  the  left  appear'd, 
And  there  a  gipsy  tribe  their  tent  had  reafd  ; 
'Twas  open  spread,  to  catch  the  morning  sun, 
And  they  had  now  their  early  meal  begun, 
When  two  brown  boys  just  left  their  grassy  seat, 
The  early  Trav'Uer  with  their  prayers  to  greet : 
While  yet  Orlando  held  his  pence  in  hand, 
He  saw  their  sister  on  her  duty  stand  ; 
Some  twelve  years  old,  demure,  affected,  sly, 
Prepared  the  force  of  early  powers  to  try  ; 
Sudden  a  look  of  languor  he  descries, 
And  well-feign'd  apprehension  in  her  eyes  ; 
Train'd  but  yet  savage  in  her  speaking  face. 
He  mark'd  the  features  of  her  vagrant  race  ; 
When  a  light  laugh  and  roguish  leer  express'd 
The  vice  implanted  in  her  youthful  breast : 
Forth  from  the  tent  her  elder  brother  came, 
Who  seem'd  offended,  yet  forbore  to  blame 


134  CRABBE  [chap. 

The  young  designer,  but  could  only  trace 

The  looks  of  pity  in  the  Tniv'llcr's  face  : 

Within,  the  Father,  who  from  fences  nigh 

Had  brought  the  fuel  for  the  fire's  supply, 

Watch'd  now  the  feeble  blaze,  and  stood  dejected  by. 

On  ragged  rug,  just  borrow'd  from  the  bed, 

And  by  the  hand  of  coarse  indulgence  fed, 

In  dirty  patchwork  negligently  dress'd, 

Reclined  the  Wife,  an  infant  at  her  breast  ; 

In  her  wild  face  some  touch  of  grace  remain'd, 

Of  vigour  palsied  and  of  beauty  stain'd  ; 

Her  bloodshot  eyes  on  her  unheeding  mate 

AVere   wrathful   turn'd,   and    seem'd   her   wants   to 

state, 
Cursing  his  tardy  aid — her  Mother  there 
With  gipsy-state  engross'd  the  only  chair  ; 
Solemn  and  dull  her  look  ;  with  such  she  stands, 
And  reads  the  milk-maid's  fortune  in  her  hands. 
Tracing  the  lines  of  life  ;  assumed  through  years. 
Each  feature  now  the  steady  falsehood  wears  : 
With  hard  and  savage  eye  she  views  the  food. 
And  grudging  pinches  their  intruding  brood  ; 
Last  in  the  group,  the  worn-out  Grandsire  sits 
Neglected,  lost,  and  living  but  by  fits  : 
Useless,  despised,  his  worthless  labours  done. 
And  half  protected  by  the  vicious  Son, 
Who  half  supports  him  ;  he  with  heavy  glance 
Views  the  young  ruffians  who  around  him  dance  ; 
And,  by  the  sadness  in  his  face,  appears 
To  trace  the  progress  of  their  future  years  : 
Through  what  strange  course  of  misery,  vice,  deceit, 
Must  wildly  wander  each  unpractised  cheat ! 
What  shame  and  grief,  what  punishment  and  pain. 
Sport  of  fierce  passions,  must  each  child  sustain — 
Ere  they  like  him  approach  their  latter  end, 
Without  a  hope,  a  comfort,  or  a  friend ! 

But  this  Orlando  felt  not ;  '  Rogues,'  said  he, 
'Doubtless  they  are,  but  merry  rogues  they  be  ; 


vni.]  TALES  135 

They  wander  round  tho  land,  and  be  it  true 
Thoy  break  the  laws^then  let  the  laws  pursue 
The  wanton  idlers  ;  for  the  life  they  lire, 
Acquit  I  cannot,  but  I  can  for^'ive.' 
This  said,  a  portion  from  his  purse  was  thrown, 
And  every  heart  seem'd  happy  like  his  own." 

The  Patron,  one  of  the  most  carefully  elaboraterl  of 
the  Tales,  is  on  an  old  and  familiar  theme.  The  scorn 
that  "patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes "j  the 
misery  of  the  courtier  doomed  "in  suing  long  to  bide  "  ; 
— the  ills  that  assail  the  scholar's  life, 

"  Toil,  envy,  want,  the  Patron  and  the  jail,' 

are  standing  subjects  for  the  moralist  and  the  satirist. 
In  Crabbe's  poem  we  have  the  story  of  a  young  man, 
the  son  of  a  "  Borough-burgess,"  who,  showing  some 
real  promise  as  a  poet,  and  having  been  able  to  render 
the  local  Squire  some  service  by  his  verses  at  election 
time,  is  invited  in  return  to  pay  a  visit  of  some  weeks 
at  the  Squire's  country-seat.  The  Squire  has  vaguely 
undertaken  to  find  some  congenial  post  for  the  young 
scholar,  whose  ideas  and  ambitions  are  much  in 
advance  of  those  entertained  for  him  in  his  home. 
The  young  man  has  e>  most  agreeable  time  with  his 
new  friends.  He  lives  for  the  while  Mith  every  refine- 
ment about  him,  and  the  Squire's  daughter,  a  young 
lady  of  the  type  of  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 
evidently  enjoys  the  opportunity  of  breaking  a 
country  heart  for  pastime,  "  ere  she  goes  to  town." 
For  after  a  while  the  family  leave  for  their  mansion  in 
London,  the  Squire  at  parting  once  more  impressing 
on  his  young  guest  that  he  will  not  forget  him.  After 
waiting  a  reasonable  time,  the  young  poet  repairs  to 


1.36  CRABBE  [chap, 

London  and  seeks  to  obtain  an  interview  with  his 
Patron.  After  many  unsuccessful  trials,  and  rebuffs 
at  the  door  from  the  servants,  a  letter  is  at  last  sent 
out  to  him  from  their  master,  coolly  advising  him  to 
abjure  all  dreams  of  a  literary  life  and  offering  him  a 
humble  post  in  the  Custom  House.  The  young  man, 
in  bitterness  of  heart,  tries  the  work  for  a  short  time ; 
and  then,  his  health  and  spirits  having  utterly  failed, 
he  returns  to  his  parents'  home  to  die,  the  father 
thanking  God,  as  he  moves  away  from  his  son's  grave, 
that  no  other  of  his  children  has  tastes  and  talents 
above  his  position  : 

"  '  There  lies  my  Boy,'  he  cried,  '  of  care  bereft, 
And,  Heaven  be  praised,  I  've  not  a  genius  left : 
No  one  among  ye,  sons  !  is  doomed  to  live 
On  high-raised  hopes  of  what  the  Great  may  give.'  " 

Crabbe,  who  is  nothing  if  not  incisive  in  the  drawing 
of  his  moral,  and  lays  on  his  colours  with  no  sparing 
hand,  represents  the  heartless  Patron  and  his  family  as 
hearing  the  sad  tidings  Avith  quite  amazing  sang-froid : 

"  Meantime  the  news  through  various  channels  spread, 
The  youth,  once  favour'd  with  such  praise,  was  dead  : 
'  Emma,'  the  Lady  cried,  '  my  words  attend, 
Your  siren-smiles  have  kill'd  your  humble  friend  ; 
The  hope  you  raised  can  now  delude  no  more. 
Nor  charms,  that  once  inspired,  can  now  restore.' 

Faint  was  the  flush  of  anger  and  of  shame, 
That  o'er  the  cheek  of  conscious  beauty  came  : 
*  You  censure  not,'  said  she,  '  the  sun's  bright  rays, 
When  fools  imprudent  dare  the  dangerous  gaze  ; 
And  should  a  stripling  look  till  be  were  blind, 
You  would  not  justly  call  the  light  unkind  : 
But  is  he  dead  ?  and  am  I  to  suppose 
The  power  of  poison  in  such  looks  as  those  ? ' 


vin.]  TALES  137 

She  spoke,  and  pointing,'  to  the  mirror,  cast 

A  pleased  g;vy  glance,  and  curtsied  as  she  pjiss'd. 

My  Lord,  to  whom  the  poet's  fate  was  told, 
Was  much  afifccted,  for  a  jnan  so  cold  : 
'Dead  !'  said  his  lordship,  'run  distractcii,  mail  : 
Upon  my  soul  I  'm  sorry  for  the  lad  ; 
And  now,  no  doubt,  th'  obliging  world  will  say 
That  my  harsh  usage  help'd  him  on  his  way  : 
What !  I  suppose,  I  should  have  nursed  his  muse. 
And  with  champagne  have  brighten'd  up  his  views  ; 
Then  had  he  made  mc  famed  my  whole  life  long. 
And  stunn'd  my  ears  with  gratitude  and  song. 
Still  should  the  father  hear  that  I  regret 
Our  joint  misfortune — Yes  !  I  '11  not  forget.' " 

The  story,  though  it  has  no  precise  prototype  in 
Crabbe's  own  history,  is  clearly  the  fruit  of  his 
experience  of  life  at  Belvoir  Castle,  combined  with 
the  sad  recollection  of  his  sufferings  when  only  a  few 
years  before  he,  a  young  man  with  the  consciousness 
of  talent,  was  rolling  butter-tubs  on  Slaughden  Quay. 

Much  of  the  Tale  is  admirably  and  forcibly  written, 
but  again  it  may  be  said  that  it  is  powerful  fiction 
rather  than  poetry — and  indeed  into  such  matters 
poetry  can  hardly  enter.  It  displays  the  fine  obser- 
vation of  Miss  Austen,  clothed  in  effective  couplets  of 
the  school  of  Johnson  and  Churchill.  Yet  every  now 
and  then  the  true  poet  comes  to  the  surface.  The 
essence  of  a  dank  and  misty  day  in  late  autumn  has 
never  been  seized  with  more  perfect  truth  than  in 
these  lines : 

"  Cold  grew  the  foggy  morn,  the  day  was  brief. 
Loose  on  the  cherry  hung  the  crimson  leaf  ; 
The  dew  dwelt  ever  on  the  herb  ;  the  woods 
Koar'd  with  strong  blasts,  with  mighty  showers  the  floods  : 


138  CRABBE  [chap. 

All  green  was  viinish'd,  save  of  pine  and  yew, 
That  still  displayed  their  melancholy  hue  ; 
Save  the  green  holly  with  its  berries  red, 
And  the  green  moss  that  o'er  the  gravel  spread." 

The  scheme  of  these  detached  Tales  had  served  to 
develop  one  special  side  of  Crabbe's  talent.  The 
analysis  of  human  character,  with  its  strength  and 
weakness  (but  specially  the  latter),  finds  fuller  exer- 
cise as  the  poet  has  to  trace  its  effects  upon  the  earthly 
fortunes  of  the  persons  portrayed.  The  Tale  entitled 
The  Gentleman  Farmer  is  a  striking  illustration  in  point. 
Jeffrey  in  his  review  of  the  Tales  in  the  Edinhurgh 
supplies,  as  usual,  a  short  abstract  of  the  story,  not 
without  due  insight  into  its  moral.  But  a  profounder 
student  of  human  nature  than  Jeffrey  has,  in  our  own 
day,  cited  the  Tale  as  worthy  even  to  illustrate  a 
memorable  teaching  of  St.  Paul.  The  Bishop  of 
Worcester,  better  known  as  Canon  Gore  to  the  thou- 
sands who  listened  to  the  discourse  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  finds  in  this  story  a  perfect  illustration  of  what 
moral  freedom  is,  and  what  it  is  often  erroneously 
supposed  to  be  : 

"  It  is  of  great  practical  importance  that  we  should  get  a 
just  idea  of  what  our  freedom  consists  in.  There  are  men 
who,  under  the  impulse  of  a  purely  materialist  science,  declare 
the  sense  of  moral  freedom  to  be  an  illusion.  This  is  of  course 
a  gross  error.  But  what  has  largely  played  into  the  hands  of 
this  error  is  the  exaggerated  idea  of  human  freedom  which  is 
ordinarily  current,  an  idea  which  can  only  be  held  by  ignoring 
our  true  and  necessary  dependence  and  limitation.  It  is  this 
that  we  need  to  have  brought  home  to  us.  There  is  an  admir- 
able story  among  George  Crabbe's  Tales  called  '  The  Gentle- 
man Farmer.'  The  hero  starts  in  life  resolved  that  he  will 
not  put  up  with  any  bondage.      The   orthodox   clergyman, 


VIII.]  TALES  139 

the  orthodox  physician,  and  orthodox  matrimony— all  these 
alike  represent  social  bondaj^^e  in  diil'erent  forms,  and  he  will 
have  none  of  them.  So  he  startd  on  a  career  of  '  unchartered 
freedom ' 

'  To  prove  that  he  alone  was  Icing  of  him^' 

and  the  last  scene  of  all  represents  him  the  weak  slave  of 
his  mistress,  a  qviack  doctor,  and  a  revivalist — '  which  things 
are  an  allegory.' " 

The  quotation  shows  that  Crabbe,  neglected  by  the 
readers  of  poetry  to-day,  is  still  cherished  by  the 
psychologist  and  divine.  It  is  to  the  "graver  mind" 
rather  than  to  the  "  lighter  heart  "  that  he  oftenest  ap- 
peals. Newman,  to  mention  no  small  names,  found 
Crabbe's  pathos  and  fidelity  to  Human  Nature  even 
more  attractive  to  him  in  advanced  years  than  in  youth. 
There  is  indeed  much  in  common  between  Crabbe's 
treatment  of  life  and  its  problems,  and  Newman's. 
Both  may  be  called  "  stern "  portrayers  of  human 
nature,  not  only  as  intended  in  Byron's  famous  line, 
but  in  "Wordsworth's  use  of  the  epithet  when  he  in- 
voked Duty  as  the  "  stern  Daughter  of  the  voice  of 
God."  A  kindred  lesson  to  that  drawn  by  Canon 
Gore  from  The  Gentleman  Farmer  is  taught  in  the  yet 
grimmer  Tale  of  Edward  Shore.  The  story,  as  sum- 
marised by  Jeffrey,  is  as  follows  : 

"The  hero  is  a  young  man  of  aspiring  genius  and  enthusi- 
astic temper  with  an  ardent  love  of  virtue,  but  no  settled 
principles  either  of  conduct  or  opinion.  He  first  conceives  an 
attachment  for  an  amiable  girl,  who  is  captivated  with  his 
conversation  ;  but,  being  too  poor  to  marry,  soon  comes  to 
spend  more  of  his  time  in  the  family  of  an  elderly  sceptic  of 
his  acquaintiince,  who  had  recently  married  a  young  wife,  and 
placed  unbounded  confidence  in  her  virtue,  and  the  honour  of 


140  CRABBE  [chap. 

his  friend.  In  a  moment  of  temptation  they  ahuse  this 
confidence.  The  husband  renounces  him  with  dignified  com- 
posure ;  and  he  falls  at  once  from  the  romantic  pride  of  his 
virtue.  He  then  seeks  the  company  of  the  dissipated  and 
gay,  and  ruins  his  health  and  fortune  without  regaining  his 
tranquillity.  When  in  gaol  and  miserable,  he  is  relieved  by 
an  unknown  hand,  and  traces  the  benefaction  to  the  friend 
whose  former  kindness  he  had  so  ill  repaid.  This  humilia- 
tion falls  upon  his  proud  spirit  and  shattered  nerves  with  an 
overwhelming  force,  and  his  reason  fails  beneath  it.  He  is 
for  some  time  a  raving  maniac,  and  then  falls  into  a  state  of 
gay  and  compass ionable  imbecility,  which  is  described  with 
inimitable  beauty  in  the  close  of  this  story." 

Jeffrey's  abstract  is  fairly  accurate,  save  in  one 
particular.  Edward  Shore  can  hardly  be  said  to  feel 
an  "ardent  love  of  virtue."  Rather  is  he  perfectly 
confident  of  his  respectability,  and  bitterly  contemp- 
tuous of  those  who  maintain  the  necessity  of  religion 
to  control  men's  unruly  passions.  His  own  lofty 
conceptions  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature  are 
sufficient  for  himself : 

" '  While  reason  guides  me,  I  shall  walk  aright, 
Nor  need  a  steadier  hand,  or  stronger  light ; 
Nor  this  in  dread  of  awful  threats,  design'd 
For  the  weak  spirit  and  the  grov'ling  mind  ; 
But  that,  engaged  by  thoughts  and  views  sublime, 
I  wage  free  war  with  grossness  and  with  crime.' 
Thus  look'd  he  proudly  on  the  vulgar  crew, 
Whom  statutes  govern,  and  whom  fears  sul>due." 

As  motto  for  this  story  Crabbe  quotes  the  fine  speech 
of  Henry  v.  on  discovering  the  treachery  of  Lord 
Scrope,  whose  character  had  hitherto  seemed  so  im- 
maculate. The  comparison  thus  suggested  is  not  as 
felicitous  as  in  many  of  Crabbc's  citations.     Had  In 


VIII.]  TALE^  141 

Menmiavi  been  then  written,  a  more  exact  parullcl 
might  have  been  found  in  Tennyson's  warning  to  the 
young  enthusiast : 

"  See  thou,  that  countest  reason  ripe 
In  holding  by  the  law  within, 
Thou  fail  not  in  a  world  of  sin. 
And  ev'n  for  want  of  such  a  type." 

The  story  is  for  the  most  part  admirably  told.  The 
unhappy  man,  reduced  to  idiocy  of  a  harmless  kind, 
and  the  common  playmate  of  the  village  children, 
is  encountered  now  and  then  by  the  once  loved  maid, 
who  might  have  made  him  happy  : 

"  Kindly  she  chides  his  boyish  flights,  while  he 
Will  for  a  moment  fix'd  and  pensive  be  ; 
And  as  she  trembling  speaks,  his  lively  eyes 
Explore  her  looks  ;  he  listens  to  her  sighs  ; 
Charm"d  by  her  voice,  th'  harmonious  sounds  invade 
His  clouded  mind,  and  for  a  time  persuade  : 
Like  a  pleased  infant,  who  has  newly  cauglit 
From  the  maternal  glance  a  gleam  of  thouglit, 
He  stands  enrapt,  the  half-known  voice  to  hear. 
And  starts,  half  conscious,  at  the  fallrng  tear. 

Karely  from  town,  nor  then  unwatch'd,  he  goes, 
In  darker  mood,  as  if  to  hide  his  woes  ; 
Eeturning  soon,  he  with  impatience  seeks 
His  youthful  friends,  and  shouts,  and  sings,  and  speaks  ; 
Speaks  a  wild  speech  with  action  all  as  wild — 
The  children's  leader,  and  himself  a  child  ; 
He  spins  their  top,  or  at  their  bidding  bends 
His  back,  while  o'er  it  leap  his  laughing  friends  ; 
Simple  and  weak,  he  acts  the  boy  once  more, 
And  heedless  children  call  him  Silhj  Shore." 

In  striking  contrast  to  the  prevailing  tone  of  the 


142  CRABBE  [chap. 

other  Tales  is  the  charming  story,  conceived  in  a  vein 
of  purest  comedy,  called  The  Frank  Courtship.  This 
Tale  alone  should  be  a  decisive  answer  to  those  who 
have  doubted  Crabbe's  possession  of  the  gift  of 
humour,  and  on  this  occasion  he  has  refrained  from 
letting  one  dark  shadow  fall  across  his  picture.  It 
tells  of  one  Jonas  Kindred,  a  wealthy  puritanic  Dis- 
senter of  narrowest  creed  and  masterful  temper.  He 
has  an  only  daughter,  the  pride  of  her  parents,  and 
brought  up  by  them  in  the  strictest  tenets  of  the  sect. 
Her  father  has  a  widowed  and  childless  sister,  with  a 
comfortable  fortune,  living  in  some  distant  town ;  and 
in  pity  of  her  solitary  condition  he  allows  his  natur- 
ally vivacious  daughter  to  spend  the  greater  part  of 
the  year  with  her  aunt.  The  aunt  does  not  share  the 
prejudices  of  her  brother's  household.  She  likes  her 
game  of  cards  and  other  social  joys,  and  is  quite  a 
leader  of  fashion  in  her  little  town.  To  this  life  and 
its  enjoyments  the  beautiful  and  clever  Sybil  takes 
very  kindly,  and  unfolds  many  attractive  graces. 
Once  a  year  the  aunt  and  niece  by  arrangement  spend 
a  few  weeks  in  Sybil's  old  home.  The  aunt,  with 
much  serpentine  wisdom,  arranges  that  she  and  her 
niece  shall  adapt  themselves  to  this  very  different 
atmosphere — eschew  cards,  attend  regularly  at  chapel, 
and  comply  with  the  tone  and  habits  of  the  family. 
The  niece,  however,  is  really  as  good  as  she  is  pretty, 
and  her  conscience  smites  her  for  deceiving  her  father, 
of  whom  she  is  genuinely  fond.  She  stands  before 
him  "pure,  pensive,  simple,  sad," — yet 

"the  damsel's  heart, 
When  Jonas  praised,  reproved  her  for  the  part ; 


VIII.]  TALES  143 

For  Sybil,  fond  of  pleasure,  gay  and  light, 
Had  still  a  secret  bias  to  the  right  ; 
Vain  as  she  was — and  flattery  made  her  vain — 
Her  simulation  gave  her  bosom  pain." 

As  time  wears  on,  however,  this  state  of  things  must 
come  to  a  close.  Jonas  is  anxious  that  his  daughter 
shall  marry  suitably,  and  he  finds  among  his  neigh- 
bours an  admirable  young  man,  a  staunch  member  of 
the  "persuasion,"  and  well  furnished  in  this  world's 
goods.  lie  calls  his  daughter  home,  that  she  may  be 
at  once  introduced  to  her  future  husband,  for  the  father 
is  as  certain  as  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  himself  that 
daughters  should  accept  what  is  offered  them  and  ask 
no  questions.  Sybil  is  by  no  means  unwilling  to  enter 
the  holy  state,  if  the  right  man  can  be  found.  Indeed, 
she  is  wearying  of  the  aimless  life  she  lives  with  her 
woildly  aunt,  and  the  gradual  change  in  her  thoughts 
and  hopes  is  indicated  in  a  passage  of  much  delicacy 
and  insight : 

*'  Jonas  now  ask'd  his  daughter — and  the  Aunt, 
Though  loth  to  lose  her,  was  obliged  to  grant : — 
But  would  not  Sybil  to  the  matron  cling. 
And  fear  to  leave  the  shelter  of  her  wing  ? 
No  !  in  the  young  there  lives  a  love  of  change, 
And  to  the  easy  they  prefer  the  strange  ! 
Then,  too,  the  joys  she  once  pursued  with  zeal. 
From  whist  and  visits  sprung,  she  ceased  to  feel  : 
When  with  the  matrons  Sybil  first  sat  down, 
To  cut  for  partners  and  to  stake  her  crown. 
This  to  the  youthful  maid  preferment  seem'd. 
Who  thought  what  woman  she  was  then  esteem'd  ; 
But  in  few  years,  when  she  perceived  indeed 
The  real  woman  to  the  girl  succeed, 
No  longer  tricks  and  honours  fiU'd  her  mind, 
But  other  feelings,  not  so  well  defined  ; 


144  CRABBE  [chap. 

She  then  reluctant  grew,  and  thought  it  hard 

To  sit  and  ponder  o'er  an  ugly  card  ; 

Rather  the  nut-tree  shade  the  nymph  preferr'd, 

Pleased  with  the  pensive  gloom  and  evening  bird  ; 

Thither,  from  company  retired,  she  took 

The  silent  walk,  or  read  the  fav'rite  book." 

The  interview  between  Sybil  and  the  young  man  is 
conceived  with  real  skill  and  hnmour.  The  young 
lady  receives  her  lover,  prepared  to  treat  him  with 
gentle  mockery  and  to  keep  him  at  a  convenient 
distance.  The  young  lover  is  not  daunted,  and 
plainly  warns  her  against  the  consequences  of  such 
levity.  But  as  the  little  duel  proceeds,  each  gradually 
detects  the  real  good  that  underlies  the  surface 
qualities  of  the  other.  In  spite  of  his  formalism, 
Sybil  discerns  that  her  lover  is  full  of  good  sense  and 
feeling ;  and  he  makes  the  same  discovery  with  regard 
to  the  young  lady's  hadimige.  And  then,  after  a 
conflict  of  wits  that  seems  to  terminate  without  any 
actual  result,  the  anxious  father  approaches  his  child 
with  a  final  appeal  to  her  sense  of  filial  dut}' : 

"  With  anger  fraught,  but  willing  to  persuade, 
The  wrathful  father  met  the  smiling  maid  : 
*  Sybil,'  said  he,  '  I  long,  and  yet  I  dread 
To  know  thy  conduct — hath  Josiah  fled  ? 
And,  grieved  and  fretted  by  thy  scornful  air. 
For  his  lost  peace,  betaken  him  to  prayer  ? 
Couldst  thou  his  pure  and  modest  mind  distress 
By  vile  remarks  upon  his  speech,  address. 
Attire,  and  voice  1 ' — '  All  this  I  must  confess.' 
'  Unhappy  child  !  what  labour  will  it  cost 
To  win  him  back  ! ' — 'I  do  not  think  him  lost.' 
'Courts  he  then  (trifler  !)  insult  and  disdain  ?'— 
'  No  ;  but  from  these  he  courts  me  to  refrain.' 


vui.]  TALES  145 

'  Then  hear  me,  Sybil :  should  Josiah  leave 

Thy  father's  house  ? ' — '  ^ly  fathei-'s  child  would  grieve.' 

'  That  is  of  grace,  and  if  he  come  again 

To  speak  of  love  ? ' — '  I  might  from  grief  refrain.' 

*  Then  wilt  thou,  daughter,  our  design  embrace  ? ' — 
'  Can  I  resist  it,  if  it  be  of  grace  1 ' 

•  Dear  child  !  in  three  plain  words  thy  mind  express  : 
Wilt  thou  have  this  good  youth  ? ' — '  Dear  father  !  yes.' " 

All  the  characters  in  the  story — the  martinet  father 
and  his  poor  crushed  wife,  as  well  us  the  pair  of  lovers 
— are  indicated  with  an  appreciation  of  the  value 
of  dramatic  contrast  that  might  make  the  little 
story  eflfective  on  the  stage.  One  of  the  Tales  in  this 
collection,  Tlie  Confidant^  was  actually  turned  into  a 
little  drama  in  blank  verse  by  Charles  Lamb,  under 
the  changed  title  of  The  fFife's  Trial :  oi'  the  Intnuling 
Widow.  The  story  of  Crabbe's  Confidant  is  not 
pleasant ;  and  Lamb  thought  well  to  modify  it,  so  as 
to  diminish  the  gravity  of  the  secret  of  which  the 
malicious  friend  was  possessed.  There  is  nothing  but 
what  is  sweet  and  attractive  in  the  little  comedy  of 
The  Frank  Courtship,  and  it  might  well  be  commended 
to  the  dexterous  and  sympathetic  hand  of  Mr.  J.  M. 
Barrie. 


CHAPTER    IX 

VISITING   IN    LONDON 
(1812-1819) 

In  the  margin  of  FitzGerald's  copy  of  the  Memoir  an 
extract  is  quoted  from  Crabbe's  Diary  :  "  1810,  Nov.  7. 
—Finish  Tales.  Not  happy  hour."  The  poet's  com- 
ment may  have  meant  something  more  than  that  so 
many  of  his  Tales  dealt  \vith  sad  instances  of  human 
frailty.  At  that  moment,  and  for  three  years  longer, 
there  hung  over  Crabbe's  family  life  a  cloud  that  never 
lifted— the  hopeless  illness  of  his  ^\afe.  Two  years 
before,  Southey,  in  answer  to  a  friend  who  had  made 
some  reference  to  Crabbe  and  his  poetry,  writes : 

"With  Crabbe's  poems  I  have  been  acquainted  for  about 
twenty  years,  having  read  them  when  a  schoolboy  on  their 
first  pubUcation,  and,  by  the  help  of  Elegant  Extracts,  remem- 
bered from  that  time  what  was  best  worth  remembering. 
You  rightly  compare  him  to  Goldsmith.  He  is  an  mutator, 
or  rather  an  antilhesizcr  of  Goldsmith,  if  such  a  word  may  be 
coined  for  the  occasion.  His  merit  is  precisely  the  same  as 
Goldsmith's— that  of  describing  things  clearly  and  strikingly  ; 
but  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  colouring  of  the 
two  poets.  Goldsmith  threw  a  sunshine  over  all  his  pictures, 
like  that  of  one  of  our  water-colour  artists  when  he  paints 
for  ladies — a  light  and  a  beauty  not  to  be  found  in  Nature, 
thouo-h  not  more  brilliant  or  beautiful  than  what  Nature 
really  affords  ;  Crabbe's  have  a  gloom  which  is  also  not  in 
Nature— not  the  shade  of  a  heavy  day,  of  mist,  or  of  clouds, 

146 


CHAP.  IX.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  MUSTON  147 

but  the  dark  and  overchar^red  shadows  of  one  who  paints  by 
hunpli;,dit — whose  very  liylits  have  a  gloominess.  In  part 
this  is  explained  by  his  history." 

Southey's  letter  was  written  in  September  1808, 
before  either  The  Boj'ough  or  the  Tales  was  published, 
which  may  account  for  the  inadequacy  of  his  criticism 
on  Crabbe's  poetry.  But  the  above  passage  throws 
light  upon  a  period  in  Crabbe's  history  to  which  his 
son  naturally  does  little  more  than  refer  in  general  and 
guarded  terms.  In  a  subsequent  passage  of  the  letter 
already  quoted,  wc  are  reminded  that  as  early  as  the 
year  1803  Mrs.  Crabbe's  mental  derangement  was 
familiarly  known  to  her  friends. 

But  now,  when  his  latest  book  was  at  last  in  print, 
and  attracting  general  attention,  the  end  of  Ci'al)l>e's 
long  watching  Mas  not  far  off.  In  the  summer  of  1813 
Mrs.  Crabbe  had  rallied  so  far  as  to  express  a  Avish  to 
see  London  again,  and  the  father  and  mother  and  two 
sons  spent  nearly  three  months  in  rooms  in  a  hotel. 
Crabbe  was  able  to  visit  Dudley  North,  and  other  of 
his  old  friends,  and  to  enter  to  some  extent  into  the 
gaieties  of  the  town,  but  also,  as  always,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  return  to  London  to  visit  and  help  the 
poor  and  distressed,  not  unmindful  of  his  owi\  want 
and  misery  in  the  great  city  thirty  years  before.  The 
family  returned  to  Muston  in  September,  and  towards 
the  close  of  the  month  Mrs.  Crabbe  was  released  from 
her  long  disease.  On  the  north  wall  of  the  chancel  of 
Muston  Church,  close  to  the  altar,  is  a  plain  marble 
slab  recording  that  not  far  away  lie  the  remains  of 
"Sarah,  wife  of  the  Rev.  George  Crabbe,  late  Rector 
of  this  Parish." 

Within  two  days  of  the  wife's  death  Ci'abbe  fell  ill 


148  CRABBE  [chap. 

of  a  serious  malady,  worn  out  as  he  was  wnth  long 
anxiety  and  grief.  He  was  for  a  few  days  in  danger 
of  his  life,  and  so  well  aware  of  his  condition  that  he 
desired  that  his  wife's  grave  "might  not  be  closed  till 
it  was  seen  whether  he  should  recover."  He  rallied, 
however,  and  returned  to  the  duties  of  his  parish,  and 
to  a  life  of  still  deeper  loneliness.  But  his  old  friends 
at  Belvoir  Castle  once  more  came  to  his  deliverance. 
Within  a  short  time  the  Duke  offered  him  the  living 
of  Trowbridge  in  Wiltshire,  a  small  manufacturing 
town,  on  the  line  (as  we  should  describe  it  to-day) 
between  Bath  and  Salisbury.  The  value  of  the  prefer- 
ment was  not  as  great  as  that  of  the  joint  livings  of 
Muston  and  Allington,  so  that  poor  Crabbe  was  once 
more  doomed  to  be  a  pluralist,  and  to  accept,  also  at 
the  Duke's  hands,  the  vicarage  of  Croxton  Kerrial, 
near  Belvoir  Castle,  where,  however,  he  never  resided. 
And  now  the  time  came  for  Crabbe's  final  move,  and 
rector  of  Trowbridge  he  was  to  remain  for  the  rest  of 
his  life.  He  was  glad  to  leave  Muston,  which  now  had 
for  him  the  saddest  of  associations.  He  had  never 
been  happy  there,  for  reasons  we  have  seen.  What 
Crabbe's  son  calls  "  diversity  of  religioiis  sentiment "  had 
produced  "a  coolness  in  some  of  his  parishioners,  which 
he  felt  the  more  painfully  because,  whatever  might  be 
their  difference  of  opinion,  he  was  ever  ready  to  help 
and  oblige  them  all  by  medical  and  other  aid  to  the 
utmost  extent  of  his  power."  So  that  in  leaving 
Muston  he  was  not,  as  was  evident,  leaving  many  to 
lament  his  departure.  Indeed,  malignity  was  so  active 
in  one  quarter  that  the  bells  of  the  parish  church 
were  rung  to  welcome  Crabbe's  successor  before  Crabbe 
and  his  sons  had  quitted  the  house  ! 


IX.]  LAST  YKAKS  AT  MUSTON  149 

For  other  reasons,  perhaps,  Crabhc  prepared  to  leave 
his  two  livings  with  a  sense  of  relief.  His  wife's  death 
had  cast  a  permanent  shadow  over  the  landscape.  The 
neighbouring  gentry  were  kindly  disposed,  but  pro- 
bably not  wholly  sympathetic.  It  is  clear  that  there 
was  a  certain  rusticity  about  Crabbe  ;  and  his  politics, 
such  as  they  were,  had  been  formed  in  a  different  school 
from  that  of  the  county  families.  A  busy  country 
town  was  likely  to  furnish  interests  and  distractions 
of  a  diflerent  kind.  But  before  finally  quitting  the 
neighbourhood  he  visited  a  sister  at  Aldeburgh,  and, 
his  son  writes,  'one  day  was  given  to  a  solitary 
ramble  among  the  scenery  of  bygone  years — Parham 
and  the  woods  of  Glemham,  then  in  the  first  blossom 
of  May.  He  did  not  return  until  night;  and  in  his 
note-book  I  find  the  following  brief  record  of  this 
mournful  visit : 

"  Yes,  I  behold  again  the  place. 

The  seat  of  joy,  the  source  of  pain  ; 
It  brings  in  view  the  form  and  face 
That  I  must  never  see  again. 

The  night-bird's  song  that  sweetly  floats 
On  this  soft  gloom — this  balmy  air — 

Brings  to  the  mind  her  sweeter  notes 
That  I  again  must  never  hear. 

Lo  !  yonder  shines  that  window's  light. 

My  guide,  my  token,  heretofore  ; 
And  now  again  it  shines  as  bright, 

When  those  dear  eyes  can  shine  no  more. 

Then  hurry  from  this  place  away  ! 

It  gives  not  now  the  bliss  it  gave; 
For  Death  has  made  its  charm  his  prey, 

And  joy  is  buried  in  her  grave." 


150  CKABBE  [CHAF. 

Ill  family  relationsliijis,  .and  indeed  all  others, 
Crabbc's  tenderness  was  never  wanting,  and  the  verse 
that  follows  was  found  long  afterwards  written  on  a 
paper  in  which  his  wife's  wedding-ring,  nearly  worn 
through  before  she  died,  was  wrapped : 

"  The  ring  so  worn,  as  you  behold, 
So  thin,  so  pale,  is  yet  of  gold  : 
The  passion  such  it  was  to  prove  ; 
Worn  with  life's  cares,  love  yet  was  love." 

Cral)be  was  inducted  to  the  living  of  Trowbridge  on 
the  3rd  of  June  1814,  and  preached  his  first  sermon 
two  days  later.  His  two  sons  followed  him,  as  soon 
as  their  existing  engagements  allowed  them  to  leave 
Leicestershire.  The  younger,  John,  who  married  in 
1816,  became  his  father's  curate,  and  the  elder,  who 
married  a  year  later,  became  curate  at  Pucklechurch, 
not  many  miles  distant.  As  Crabbc's  old  cheerfulness 
gradually  returned  he  found  much  congenial  society  in 
the  better  educated  classes  about  him.  His  reputation 
as  a  poet  was  daily  spreading.  The  Tales  passed  from 
edition  to  edition,  and  brought  him  many  admirers 
and  sympathisers.  The  "busy,  populous  clothing 
town,"  as  he  described  Trowbridge  to  a  friend,  provided 
him  with  intelligent  neighbours  of  a  class  different 
from  any  he  had  yet  been  thrown  with.  And  yet  once 
more,  as  his  son  has  to  admit,  he  failed  to  secure  the 
allegiance  of  the  church-going  parishioners.  His 
immediate  predecessor,  a  curate  in  charge,  had  been 
one  of  those  in  whom  a  more  passionate  missionary 
zeal  had  been  stirred  by  the  Methodist  movement — 
"  endeared  to  the  more  serious  inhabitants  by  warm  zeal 
and  a  powerful  talent  for  preaching  extempore."     The 


IX.]  AT  TROWBRIDGE  151 

parishioners  had  made  urgent  appeal  to  the  noltle 
patron  to  appoint  this  man  to  the  benefice,  and  tlic 
Duke's  disregard  of  their  petition  had  produced  much 
bitterness  in  the  parish.  Then,  again,  in  Crabbe  there 
was  a  "hiy  "  element,  which  had  probably  not  been  found 
in  his  predecessor,  and  he  might  occasionally  be  seen 
"at  a  concert,  a  ball,  or  even  a  play."  And  finally, 
not  long  after  his  arrival,  he  took  the  unpopular  side 
in  an  election  for  the  representation  of  the  county. 
The  candidate  he  supported  was  strongly  opposed  by 
the  *'  manufacturing  interest,"  and  Crabbe  became  the 
object  of  intense  dislike  at  the  time  of  the  election,  so 
much  so  that  a  violent  mob  attempted  to  prevent  his 
leaving  his  house  to  go  to  the  poll.  However,  Crabbe 
showed  the  utmost  courage  during  the  excitement, 
and  his  other  fine  qualities  of  sterling  worth  and 
kindness  of  heart  ultimately  made  their  way;  and 
in  the  sixteen  years  that  followed,  Crabbe  took  still 
firmer  hold  of  the  aflfection  of  the  worthier  part  of 
his  parishioners. 

Crabbe's  son  thought  good  to  devote  several  pages 
of  his  Memoir  to  the  question  why  his  father,  having 
now  no  unmarried  son  to  be  his  companion,  should  not 
have  taken  such  a  sensible  step  as  to  marry  again.  For 
the  old  man,  if  he  deserved  to  be  so  called  at  the  age 
of  sixty-two,  was  still  very  susceptible  to  the  charms 
of  female  society,  and  indeed  not  wholl}'  free  from  the 
habit  of  philandering  —  a  habit  which  occasionally 
•'  inspired  feelings  of  no  ordinary  warmth  "  in  the  fair 
objects  of  "  his  vain  devotion."  One  such  incident 
all  but  ended  in  a  permanent  engagement.  A  MS. 
quotation  from  the  poet's  Diary,  copied  in  the  margin 
of   FitzGcrald's   volume,  may  possibly    refer    to    this 


152  CRABBE  [chap. 

occasion.  Under  date  of  September  22  occurs  this 
entry :  "  Sidmouth.  Miss  Ridout.  Declaration. 
Acceptance."  But  under  Octol)er  5  is  written  the 
ominous  word,  "Mr.  Eidout."  And  later:  "Doc.  12. 
Charlotte's  picture  returned."  A  tragedy  (or  was  it 
a  comedy  1)  seems  written  in  these  few  words.  Edward 
FitzGerald  adds  to  this  his  own  note :  "  Miss  Ridout  I 
remember — an  elegant  spinster ;  friend  of  my  mother's. 
About  1825  she  had  been  at  Sidmouth,  and  known 
Crabbe."  The  son  quotes  some  very  ardent  verses 
belonging  to  this  period,  but  not  assignable  to  any 
particular  charmer,  such  as  one  set  beginning : 

"  And  wilt  thou  never  smile  again  ; 
Thy  cruel  purpose  never  shaken  ? 
Hast  thou  no  feeling  for  my  pain, 

Refused,  disdain'd,  despised,  forsaken  ? " 

The  son  indicates  these  amiable  foibles  in  a  filial 
tone  and  in  apologetic  terms,  but  the  "  liberal 
shepherds "  sometimes  spoke  more  frankly.  An  old 
squire  remarked  to  a  friend  in  reference  to  this  subject, 
"D — mme,  sir!  the  very  first  time  Crabbe  dined  at 
my  house  he  made  love  to  my  sister ! "  And  a  lady 
is  known  to  have  complained  that  on  a  similar  occa- 
sion Crabbe  had  exhibited  so  much  warmth  of  manner 
that  she  "felt  quite  frightened."  His  son  entirely 
supports  the  same  view  as  to  his  father's  almost 
demonstratively  affectionate  manner  towards  ladies 
who  interested  him,  and  who,  perhaps  owing  to  his 
rising  repute  as  an  author,  showed  a  corresponding 
interest  in  the  elderly  poet.  Crabbe  himself  admits 
"the  soft  impeachment."  In  a  letter  to  his  newly 
found  correspondent,  Mrs.  Leadbeater  (granddaughter 


IX.]  AT  TUOVVlilUlXlE  153 

of  Burke's  old  schoolmaster,  Richard  Shackleton), 
he  confesses  that  women  were  more  to  him  than 
men  : 

"  I  am  alone  now  ;  and  since  my  removing  into  a  busy  town 
among  the  multitude,  the  loneliness  is  but  more  apparent  and 
more  melancholy.  But  this  is  only  at  certain  times  ;  and  then 
I  have,  though  at  considerable  distances,  six  female  friends, 
unknown  to  each  other,  but  all  dear,  very  dear,  to  me.  "With 
men  I  do  not  much  associate  ;  not  as  deserting,  and  much  less 
disliking,  the  male  part  of  society,  but  as  being  unfit  for  it ; 
not  hardy  nor  grave,  not  knowing  enough,  nor  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  the  everyday  concerns  of  men.  But  my 
beloved  creatures  have  minds  with  which  I  can  better  assimi- 
late. Think  of  you,  I  must ;  and  of  me,  I  must  entreat  that 
you  would  not  be  unmindful." 

Nothing,  however,  was  destined  to  come  of  these 
various  flirtations  or  tendresses.  The  new  duties  at 
Trowbridge,  with  their  multiplying  calls  upon  his 
attention  and  sympathies,  must  soon  have  filled  his 
time  and  attention  when  at  work  in  his  market  town, 
with  its  flourishing  woollen  manufactures.  And  Crabbe 
was  now  to  have  opened  to  him  new  sources  of  interest 
in  the  neighbourhood.  His  growing  reputation  soon 
made  him  a  welcome  guest  in  many  houses  to  which  his 
mere  position  as  vicar  of  Trowbridge  might  not  have 
admitted  him.  Trowbridge  was  only  a  score  or  so 
of  miles  from  Bath,  and  there  were  many  noblemen's 
and  gentlemen's  seats  in  the  country  round.  In  this 
same  county  of  "Wilts,  and  not  very  far  away,  at  his 
vicarage  of  Bremhill,  was  William  Lisle  Bowles,  the 
graceful  poet  whose  sonnets  five-and-twenty  years 
before  had  first  roused  to  poetic  utterance  the  young 
Coleridge  and  Charles  Lamb  when  at  Christ's  Hospital. 


154  CRABBE  [CHAP. 

Through  Bowles,  Crabhe  was  introduced  to  the  noble 
family  at  Bowood,  where  the  third  Marquis  of  Lans- 
downe  delighted  to  welcome  those  distinguished  in 
literature  and  the  arts.  Within  these  splendid  walls 
Crabbe  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Eogers,  which 
soon  ripened  into  an  intimacy  not  without  effect,  I 
think,  upon  the  remaining  efforts  of  Crabbe  as  a  poet. 
One  immediate  result  was  that  Crabbe  yielded  to 
Rogers's  strong  advice  to  him  to  visit  London,  and  take 
his  place  among  the  literary  society  of  the  day.  This 
visit  was  paid  in  the  summer  of  1817,  when  Crabbe 
stayed  in  London  from  the  middle  of  June  to  the  end 
of  July. 

Crabbe's  son  rightly  included  in  his  Memoir  several 
extracts  from  his  father's  Diary  kept  during  this  visit. 
They  are  little  more  than  briefest  entries  of  engage- 
ments, but  serve  to  show  the  new  and  brilliant  life  to 
which  the  poet  was  suddenly  introduced.  He  con- 
stantly dined  and  breakfasted  with  Rogers,  where  he 
met  and  was  welcomed  by  Rogers's  friends.  His  old 
acquaintance  with  Fox  gave  him  the  cntr6e  of  Holland 
House.  Thomas  Campbell  was  specially  polite  to  him, 
and  really  attracted  by  him.  Crabbe  visited  the 
theatres,  and  was  present  at  the  farewell  banquet 
given  to  John  Kemble.  Through  Rogers  and  Campbell 
he  was  introduced  to  John  Murray  of  Albemarle  Street, 
who  later  became  his  publisher.  He  sat  for  his  portrait 
to  Pickersgill  and  Phillips,  and  saw  the  painting  by 
the  latter  hanging  on  the  Academy  walls  when  dining 
at  their  annual  banquet.  Again,  through  an  intro- 
duction at  Bath  to  Samuel  Hoare  of  Hampstead,  Crabbe 
formed  a  friendship  vnih.  him  and  his  family  of  the 
most  affectionate  nature.    During  the  first  and  all  later 


IX.]  VISITING  IN  LONDON  115 

visits  to  London  Crabbo  was  most  often  their  giusL 
at  the  mansion  on  the  summit  of  the  famous  "  Northern 
Height,"  with  v/hich,  after  Crabbe's  death,  Wordsworth 
so  touchingly  associated  his  name,  in  the  lines  written 
on  the  death  of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  and  his  brother- 
poets  : 

"  Our  haughty  life  is  crowned  with  darkness, 

Like  London  with  its  own  black  wreath, 
On  which  with  thee,  0  Cral5l)0,  forth  lookini;, 

1  gazed  from  Hanipstead's  breezy  heath." 

Between  Samuel  Hoare's  hospitable  roof  and  the 
Humnmms  in  Covent  Garden  Crabbe  seems  to  have 
alternated,  according  as  his  engagements  in  town  re- 
quired. 

But  although  living,  as  the  Diary  shows,  in  daily 
intercourse  with  the  literary  and  artistic  world,  tasting 
delights  which  were  absolutely  new  to  him,  Crabbe 
never  forgot  either  his  humble  friends  in  Wiltshire, 
or  the  claims  of  his  own  art.  He  kept  in  touch  with 
Trowbridge,  where  his  son  John  was  in  charge,  and 
sends  instructions  from  time  to  time  as  to  poor  pen- 
sioners and  others  who  were  not  to  be  neglected  in  the 
weekly  ministrations.  At  the  same  time,  he  seems 
rarely  to  have  omitted  the  self-imposed  task  of  adding 
daily  to  the  pile  of  manuscript  on  which  he  was  at 
^vork— the  collection  of  stories  to  be  subsequently 
issued  as  Tales  of  the  Hall.  Crabbe  had  resolved,  in  the 
face  of  whatever  distractions,  to  write  if  possible  a  fixed 
amount  every  day.  More  than  once  in  the  Diary 
occur  such  entries  as :  "  My  thirty  lines  done ;  but  not 
well,  I  fear."     "Thirty  lines  to-day,  but  not  yesterday 

must  work  up."     This  anticipation  of  a  method  made 

famous  later  in  the  century  by  Anthony  Trollope  may 


156  CRABBE  [chap. 

account  (as  also  in  Trollope's  case)  for  certain  marked 
inequalities  in  the  nnerit  of  the  work  thus  turned  out. 
At  odd  times  and  in  odd  places  were  these  verses  some- 
times composed.  On  a  certain  Sunday  morning  in 
July  1817,  after  going  to  church  at  St.  James's, 
Piccadilly  (or  was  it  the  Chapel  Royal  *?),  Crabbe 
wandered  eastward  and  found  inspiration  in  the 
most  unexpected  quarter:  "Write  some  lines  in  the 
solitude  of  Somerset  House,  not  fifty  yards  from  the 
Thames  on  one  side,  and  the  Strand  on  the  other; 
but  as  quiet  as  the  sands  of  Arabia.  I  am  not  quite 
in  good  humour  with  this  day ;  but,  happily,  I  cannot 
say  why." 

The  last  mysterious  sentence  is  one  of  many  scattered 
through  the  Diary,  which,  aided  by  dashes  and  omission- 
marks  by  the  editorial  son,  point  to  certain  senti- 
mentalisms  in  which  Crabbe  was  still  indulging,  even 
in  the  vortex  of  fashionable  gaieties.  We  gather 
throughout  that  the  ladies  he  met  interested  him 
quite  as  much,  or  even  more,  than  the  distinguished 
men  of  letters,  and  there  are  allusions  besides  to 
other  charmers  at  a  distance.  The  following  entry 
immediately  precedes  that  of  the  Sunday  just 
quoted : — 

"  14th. — Some  more  intimate  conversation  this  morning  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moore.  They  mean  to  go  to  Trowbridge.  He 
is  going  to  Paris,  but  will  not  stay  long.  Mrs.  Spencer's 
album.     Agree  to  dine  at  Curzon  Street.     A  welcome  letter 

from .     This  makes  the  day  more  cheerful.     Suppose  it 

were  so.  Well,  'tis  not !  Go  to  Mr.  Rogers,  and  take  a  fare- 
well visit  to  Highbury.     Miss  Rogers.     Promise  to  go  when 

.      Return  early.     Dine  there,  and  purpose  to  see  Mr. 

Moore  and  Mr.  Rogers  m  the  morning  when  they  set  out  for 
Calais." 


IX.]  VISITINO  IN  LONDON  157 

On  the  whole,  however,  Crabbo  may  have  found, 
when  these  fa.scin;iting  experiences  were  over,  that 
there  had  been  safety  in  a  multitude.  For  he  seems 
to  have  been  equally  charmed  with  Rogers's  sister, 
and  William  Spencer's  daughter,  and  the  Countess 
of  Bessborough,  and  a  certain  Mrs.  "Wilson, — and, 
like  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa,  to  have  "loved  them 
every  one." 

Meanwhile  Crabbe  was  working  steadily,  while  in 
London,  at  his  new  poems.  Though  his  minimum 
output  was  thirty  lines  a  day,  he  often  produced  more, 
and  on  one  occasion  he  records  eighty  lines  as  the 
fruit  of  a  day's  labour.  During  the  year  1818  he  was 
still  at  work,  and  in  September  of  that  year  he  writes 
to  Mary  Leadbeater  that  his  verses  "are  not  yet 
entirely  ready,  but  do  not  want  much  that  he  can 
give  them."  He  was  evidently  correcting  and  perfect- 
ing to  the  best  of  his  ability,  and  (as  I  believe)  profit- 
ing by  the  intellectual  stimulus  of  his  visit  to  London, 
as  well  as  by  the  higher  standards  of  versification  that 
he  had  met  with,  even  in  writers  inferior  to  himself. 
The  six  weeks  in  London  had  given  him  advantages 
he  had  never  enjoyed  before.  In  his  early  days  under 
Burke's  roof  he  had  learned  much  from  Burke  himself, 
and  from  Johnson  and  Fox,  but  he  was  then  only  a 
promising  beginner.  Now,  thirty-five  years  later,  he 
met  Rogers,  Wordsworth,  Campbell,  Moore,  as  social 
equals,  and  having,  like  them,  won  a  public  for  him- 
self. When  his  next  volumes  appeared,  the  workman- 
ship proved,  as  of  old,  unequal,  but  hero  and  there 
Crabbe  showed  a  musical  ear,  and  an  individuality 
of  touch  of  a  different  order  from  anything  he  had 
achieved  before.    Mr.  Courthope  and  other  critics  hold 


158  CRABBP:  [chap. 

that  there  are  passages  in  Crabbe's  earliest  poems, 
such  as  The  Filhujc,  which  have  a  metrical  charm  he 
never  afterwards  attained.  But  I  strongly  suspect  that 
in  such  passages  Cral)be  had  owed  much  to  the  revising 
hand  of  Burke,  Johnson,  and  Fox. 

In  the  spring  of  1819  Crablte  was  again  in  town, 
visiting  at  Holland  House,  and  dining  at  the  Thatched 
House  -with  the  "  Literary  Society,"  of  which  he  had 
been  elected  a  member,  and  which  to-day  still  dines 
and  prospers.  He  was  then  preparing  for  the  publica- 
tion of  his  new  Tales,  from  the  famous  house  in  Albe- 
marle Street.  Two  years  before,  in  1817,  on  the 
strength  doubtless  of  Rogers's  strong  recommendation, 
Murray  had  made  a  very  lilicral  offer  for  the  new 
poems,  and  the  copyright  of  all  Crabbe's  previous  works. 
For  these,  together,  Murray  had  offered  three  thou- 
sand pounds.  Strangely  enough,  Rogers  was  at  first  dis- 
satisfied with  the  offer,  holding  that  the  sum  should  be 
paid  for  the  new  volumes  alone.  He  and  a  friend 
(possibly  Campbell),  who  had  conducted  the  negotia- 
tion, accordingly  went  off  to  the  house  of  Longman  to 
see  if  they  could  not  get  better  terms.  To  their  great 
discomfiture  the  Longmans  only  offered  £1000  for  the 
privilege  that  Murray  had  valued  at  three  times  the 
amount;  and  Crabbe  and  his  friends  were  placed  in  a 
difficult  position.  A  letter  of  Moore  to  John  Murray 
many  years  afterwards,  when  Crabbe's  Memuir  was  in 
preparation,  tells  the  sequel  of  the  story,  and  it  may 
well  be  given  in  his  words  : 

"  In  this  crisis  it  was  that  Mr.  Rogers  and  myself,  anxions 
to  relieve  our  poor  friend  from  his  suspense,  called  upon 
you,  as  you  must  well  remember,  in  Albemarle  Street ;  and 
seldom  liave  I  watched  a  countenance  with  more  solicitude, 


IX.]  VISITTNfJ  IN  LONDON  159 

or  heard  words  that  j^uve  me  much  more  pleasure  than 
when,  on  the  subject  being  mentioned,  you  said  '  Oh  !  yes. 
I  have  heard  from  INIr.  Crabbe,  and  look  upon  the  matter  as 
all  settled.'  I  was  rather  pressed,  I  remember,  for  time  that 
morning,  having  an  appointment  on  some  business  of  my 
own,  but  Mr.  Rogers  insisted  that  I  sliould  accompany  him 
to  Crabbe's  lodgings,  and  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
relieved  from  his  suspense.  We  found  him  sitting  in  his 
room,  alone,  and  expecting  the  worst ;  but  soon  dissipated 
all  his  fears  by  the  agreeal)le  intelligence  which  we  brought. 

"  When  he  received  the  bills  for  £3000,  we  earnestly  advised 
that  he  should,  without  delay,  deposit  them  in  some  .safe  hands ; 
but  no — he  must  take  them  with  him  to  Trowbridge,  and  show 
them  to  his  son  John,  They  would  hardly  believe  in  his 
good  luck,  at  home,  if  they  did  not  see  the  bills.  On  his 
way  down  to  Trowbridge,  a  friend  at  Salisbury,  at  whose 
house  he  rested  (Mr.  Everett,  the  banker),  seeing  that  he 
carrieil  these  bills  loosely  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  requested 
to  be  allowed  to  take  charge  of  them  for  him  :  but  with 
equal  ill  success.  '  There  was  no  fear,'  he  said, '  of  his  losing 
them,  and  he  must  show  them  to  his  son  John.' " 

It  was  matter  of  common  knowledge  in  the  literary 
world  of  Crabbe's  day  that  John  Mnrray  did  not 
on  this  occasion  make  a  very  prudent  bargain,  and 
that  in  fact  he  lost  heavily  by  his  venture.  No  doubt 
his  offer  was  based  upon  the  remarkable  success 
of  Crabbe's  two  preceding  poems.  Tlic  Borough  had 
passed  through  six  editions  in  the  same  number  of 
years,  and  the  Tale^  reached  a  fifth  edition  ^v^thin  two 
years  of  publication.  But  for  changes  in  progress  in 
the  poetic  taste  of  the  time,  Murray  miglit  safely  have 
anticipated  a  continuance  of  Crabl)o's  popularity. 
But  seven  years  had  elapsed  since  the  appearance  of 
the  Tahii,  and  in  these  seven  years  much  had  happened. 
Byron  had  given  to  the  world  one  by  one  tlie  four 


160  CRABBE  [chap. 

cantos  of  fliihJe  Harold,  as  well  as  other  poems  rich  in 
splendid  rhetoric  and  a  lyric  versatility  far  beyond 
Crabbe's  reach.  "Wordsworth's  two  volumes  in  1815 
contained  by  far  the  most  important  and  representa- 
tive of  his  poems,  and  these  were  slowly  but  surely 
winning  him  a  pul)lic  of  his  own,  intellectual  and 
thoughtful  if  not  as  yet  numerous.  John  Keats  had 
made  two  appearances,  in  1817  and  1818,  and  the  year 
following  the  publication  of  Crabbe's  Tales  of  the 
Hall  was  to  add  to  them  the  Odes  and  other  poems 
constituting  the  priceless  volume  of  1820— Lamia  and 
other  Poems.  Again,  for  the  lovers  of  fiction — whom, 
as  I  have  said,  Crabbe  had  attracted  quite  as  strongly 
as  the  lovers  of  verse — Walter  Scott  had  produced  five 
or  six  of  his  finest  novels,  and  was  adding  to  the  circle 
of  his  admirers  daily.  By  the  side  of  this  fascinating 
prose,  and  still  more  fascinating  metrical  versatility, 
Crabbe's  resolute  and  plodding  couplets  might  often 
seem  tame  and  wearisome.  Indeed,  at  this  juncture, 
the  rhymed  heroic  couplet,  as  a  vehicle  for  the  poetry  of 
imagination,  was  tottering  to  its  fall,  though  it  lingered 
for  many  years  as  the  orthodox  form  for  university  prize 
poems,  and  for  occasional  didactic  or  satirical  effusions. 
Crabbe,  very  wisely,  remained  faithful  to  the  metre. 
For  his  purpose,  and  with  his  subjects  and  special  gifts, 
none  probably  would  have  served  him  better.  For 
narrative  largely  blended  with  the  analytical  and  the 
epigrammatic  method  neither  the  stanza  nor  blank- verse 
(had  he  ever  mastered  it)  would  have  sufficed.  But  in 
Crabbe's  last  published  volumes  it  was  not  only  the 
metre  that  was  to  seem  flat  and  monotonous  in  the 
presence  of  new  proofs  of  the  boundless  capabilities  of 
verse.     The  reader  would  not  make  much  pi^ogress  in 


IX.]  VISITING  IN  LONDON  101 

these  volumes  without  discovering  that  the  depressing 
incidents  of  life,  its  disasters  and  distresses,  were  still 
Crab])e's  prevailing  theme.  John  Murray  in  the  same 
season  pultlished  Ilogers's  Iranian  Life  and  Crabbe's 
Talcs  of  the  Ilall.  The  pultlishcr  sent  Crabl)c  a  copy  of 
the  former,  and  he  acknowledged  it  in  a  few  lines  as 
follows : 

"I  am  anxious  that  Mr.  Rogers  should  have  all  the 
success  he  can  desire.  I  am  more  indebted  to  him  than  I 
could  bear  to  think  of,  if  I  had  not  the  highest  esteem.  It 
will  give  me  great  satisfaction  to  find  him  cordially  admired. 
His  is  a  favourable  picture,  and  such  he  loves  :  so  do  I,  but 
men's  vices  and  follies  come  into  my  mind,  and  spoil  my 
drawing." 

Assuredly  no  more  striking  antithesis  to  Crabbe's 
habitual  impressions  of  human  life  can  be  found  than 
in  the  touching  and  often  beautiful  couplets  of  Rogers, 
a  poet  as  neglected  to-day  as  Crabbe.  Rogers's  picture 
of  wedded  happiness  finds  no  parallel,  I  think,  any- 
where in  the  pages  of  his  brother-poet : — 

"  Across  the  threshold  led. 
And  every  tear  kissed  off  as  soon  as  shed. 
His  house  she  enters,  there  to  be  a  light 
Shining  within,  when  all  without  is  night ; 
A  guardian  angel  o'er  his  life  presiding, 
Doubling  his  pleasures,  and  his  cares  dividing  ! 
How  oft  her  eyes  read  his  ;  her  genlle  mind 
To  all  his  wishes,  all  his  thoughts,  inclined  ; 
Still  subject — ever  on  the  watch  to  borrow 
Mirth  of  his  mirth,  and  sorrow  of  his  sorrow. 
The  soul  of  music  slumbers  in  the  shell, 
Till  waked  to  rapture  l)y  the  master's  spell ; 
And  fcH  ling  hearts — toucli  them  but  rigiitly — pour 
A  thousand  melodies  unheard  before." 


162  CRABBE  [chap.  ix. 

It  may  be  urged  that  Rogers  exceeds  in  one  direction  as 
unjustifiably  as  Crabbe  in  the  opposite.  But  there  is 
room  in  poetry  for  both  points  of  view,  though  the 
absohite — the  Shakespearian — grasp  of  Human  Life 
may  be  truer  and  more  eternally  convincing  than 
either. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  TALES   OF  THE   HALL 
(1819) 

The  Talcii  of  the  Hall  were  published  by  John  Murray 
in  June  1819,  in  two  hiindsomo  octavo  vohimes, 
with  every  advantage  of  type,  paper,  and  margin.  In 
a  letter  of  Crabbe  to  Mrs.  Leadbeater,  in  October  1817, 
he  makes  reference  to  these  Tales,  already  in  prepara- 
tion. He  tells  his  correspondent  that  "Remembrances" 
was  the  title  for  them  proposed  by  his  friends.  We 
learn  from  another  source  that  a  second  title  had  been 
suggested,  "Forty  Days — a  Series  of  Tales  told  at 
Bimiing  Plall."  Finally  Mr.  Murray  recommended 
Tales  of  the  Hall,  and  this  was  adopted. 

In  the  same  letter  to  Mrs.  Leadbeater,  Crabbe  -svTites  : 
"I  know  not  how  to  describe  the  new,  and  probably 
(most  probably)  the  last  work  I  shall  publish.  Though 
a  village  is  the  scene  of  meeting  between  my  two 
principal  characters,  and  gives  occasion  to  other 
characters  and  relations  in  general,  yet  I  no  more 
describe  the  manners  of  village  inhabitants.  My 
people  are  of  superior  classes,  though  not  the  most 
elevated ;  and,  with  a  few  exceptions,  are  of  educated 
and  cultivated  minds  and  habits."  In  making  this 
change  Crabbe  was  also  aware  that  some  kind  of  unity 
must  be  given  to  those  new  studies  of  human  life. 

163 


164  CRABBE  [ohap. 

And  he  found  at  least  a  semblance  of  this  unity  in  ties 
of  family  or  friendship  uniting  the  tellers  of  them. 
Moreover  Crabbe,  who  had  a  wide  and  even  intimate 
knowledge  of  English  poetry,  was  well  acquainted  with 
the  Canterhiiry  Tales,  and  he  bethought  him  that  he 
would  devise  a  framework.  And  the  plan  he  worked 
out  was  as  follows  : 

"The  Hall"  under  whose  roof  the  stories  and  con- 
versations arise  is  a  gentleman's  house,  apparently  in 
the  eastern  counties,  inhabited  by  the  elder  of  two 
brothers,  George  and  Richard.  George,  an  elderly 
bachelor,  who  had  made  a  sufficient  fortune  in  business, 
has  retired  to  this  country  seat,  which  stands  upon  the 
site  of  a  humbler  dwelling  where  George  had  been 
born  and  spent  his  earliest  years.  The  old  home  of 
his  youth  had  subsequently  passed  into  the  hands  of  a 
man  of  means,  who  had  added  to  it,  improved  the  sur- 
roundings, and  turned  it  into  a  modern  and  elegant 
villa.  It  was  again  in  the  market  when  George  was 
seeking  a  retreat  for  his  old  age,  and  he  purchased  it — 
glad,  even  under  the  altered  conditions,  to  live  again 
among  the  loved  surroundings  of  his  childhood. 

George  has  a  half-brother,  Richard,  much  younger 
than  himself.  They  are  the  children  of  the  same 
mother  who,  some  years  after  her  first  widowhood,  had 
married  an  Irish  gentleman,  of  mercurial  habit,  by 
whom  she  had  this  second  child.  George  had  already 
left  home  to  earn  his  living,  with  the  consequence  that 
the  two  brothers  had  scarcely  ever  met  until  the 
occasion  upon  which  the  story  opens.  Richard,  after 
first  trying  the  sea  as  a  profession,  had  entered  the 
army  during  the  war  with  Napoleon ;  distinguished 
himself  in  the  Peninsula ;  and  finally  returned  to  his 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  TFALL  165 

native    country,    covered    with    glory    and    enjoying 
a  modest  pension.     He  woos  and  wins  the  daughter 
of  a  country  clergyman,  marries,  and  finds  a  young 
family  growing  up  around  him.     He  is  filled  with  a 
desire  to  resume  friendly  relations  with  his  half-brother 
George,  but  is  deterred  from  making  the  first  advances. 
George,  hearing  of    this  through    a  common    friend, 
cordially  responds,  and  Richard  is  invited  to  spend  a 
few  weeks  at  Binning  Hall.     The  two  brothers,  whose 
bringing  up  had  been  so  different,  and  Avhose  ideas 
and  politics  were  far  removed,  nevertheless  find  their 
mutual  companionship  very  pleasant,  and  every  evening 
over  their  port  wine  relate  their  respective  adventures 
and  experiences,  while  George  has  also  much  to  tell  of  his 
friends  and  neighbours  around  him.     The  clergyman  of 
the  parish,  a  former  fellow  of  his  college,  often  makes  a 
third  at  these  meetings ;  and  thus  a  sufficient  variety  of 
topic  is  insured.     The  tales  that  these  three  tell,  with 
the  conversations  arising  out  of  them,  form  the  subject 
matter  of  these  Tales  of  the  Hall     Crabbe  devised  a 
very  pleasant  means  of  bringing  the  brother's  visit  to 
a  close.     When  the  time  originally  proposed  for  the 
younger  brother's  stay  is  nearing  its  end,  the  brothers 
prepare  to  part.     At  first,  the  younger  is  somewhat 
disconcerted  that  his  elder  brother  seemed  to  take  his 
departure   so   little   to    heart.      But   this   display   of 
indifference  proves  to  be  only  an  amiable  ruse  on  the 
part  of  George.     On  occasion  of  a  final  ride  together 
through  the  neighbouring  country,   George   asks   for 
his  lirother's  opinion  about  a  purchase  he  has  recently 
made,  of  a  pleasant  house  and  garden  adjoining  his 
own  property.     It  then  turns  out  that  the  generous 
George  has  bought  the  place  as  a  home  for  his  brother, 


166  CRABBE  [chap. 

who  will  ill  future  act  as  George's  agent  or  steward. 
On  approaching  and  entering  the  house,  Kichard  finds 
his  wife  and  children,  who  have  been  privately 
informed  of  the  arrangement,  already  installed,  and 
eagerly  waiting  to  welcome  husband  and  father  to  this 
new  and  delightful  home. 

Throughout  the  development  of  this  story  with 
its  incidental  narratives,  Crabbe  has  managed,  as  in 
previous  poems,  to  make  large  use  of  his  own  personal 
experience.  The  Hall  proves  to  be  a  modern  gentle- 
man's residence  constructed  out  of  a  humbler  farm- 
house by  additions  and  alterations  in  the  building  and 
its  surroundings,  which  was  precisely  the  fate  which 
had  befallen  Mr.  Tovell's  old  house  which  had  come  to 
the  Crabbe  family,  and  had  been  parted  with  by  them 
to  one  of  the  Suffolk  county  families.  "Moated 
Granges  "  were  common  in  Norfolk  and  Suflfolk.  Mr. 
Tovell's  house  had  had  a  moat,  and  this  too  had  been  a 
feature  of  George's  paternal  home  : 

"  It  was  an  ancient,  venerable  Hall, 
And  once  surrounded  by  a  moat  and  wall ; 
A  part  was  added  by  a  squire  of  taste 
Who,  while  unvalued  acres  ran  to  waste, 
Made  spacious  rooms,  whence  he  could  look  about, 
And  mark  improvements  as  they  rose  without ; 
He  fiU'd  the  moat,  he  took  the  wall  away. 
He  thinn'd  the  park  and  bade  the  view  be  gay." 

In  this  instance,  the  squire  who  had  thus  altered  the 
property  had  been  forced  to  sell  it,  and  George  was 
thus  able  to  return  to  the  old  surroundings  of  his 
boyhood.  In  the  third  book,  Boys  at  School,  George 
relates  some  of  his  recollections,  which  include  the 
story  of  a  school-fellow,  who  having  some  liking  for  art 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  167 

hut  not  much  talent,  finds  his  arahitions  defeated,  and 
dies  of  chagrin  in  consequence.  This  was  in  fact  the 
true  story  of  a  brother  of  Crabl^e's  wife,  Mr.  James  Elmy. 
Later,  again,  in  the  work  the  rector  of  the  parish  is 
described,  and  the  portrait  drawn  is  obviously  that  of 
Crabbe  himself,  as  ho  appeared  to  his  Dissenting 
parishioners  at  Muston : 

'"A  moral  teacher  I '  some,  contemptuous,  cried  ; 
He  smiled,  but  nothing  of  the  fact  denied, 
Nor,  save  by  his  fair  life,  to  charge  so  strong  replied. 
Still,  though  he  bade  them  not  on  aught  rely 
That  was  their  own,  but  all  their  worth  deny, 
They  called  his  pure  advice  his  cold  morality. 

He  either  did  not,  or  he  would  not  see, 

That  if  he  meant  a  favourite  priest  to  be. 

He  must  not  show,  but  learn  of  them,  the  way 

To  truth — he  must  not  dictate,  but  obey  ; 

They  wish'd  him  not  to  bring  them  further  light, 

But  to  convince  them  that  they  now  were  right, 

And  to  assert  that  justice  will  condemn 

All  who  presumed  to  disagree  with  them  : 

In  this  ho  fail'd,  and  his  the  greater  blame, 

For  he  persisted,  void  of  fear  or  shame." 

There  is  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  these  lines  that 
is  unmistakably  that  of  a  personal  grievance,  even  if 
the  poet's  son  had  not  confirmed  the  inference  in 
a  foot-note. 

Book  IV,  is  devoted  to  the  Adventures  of  Richard, 
which  begin  with  his  residence  with  his  mother 
near  a  small  sea-port  (evidently  Aldeburgh);  and 
here  we  once  more  read  of  the  boy,  George  Crabbe, 
watching  and  remembering  every  aspect  of  the  storms, 


168  CRABBE  [chap. 

and  making  friends  with  the  wives  and  children  of  the 
sailors  and  the  smugglers  : 

"  I  loved  to  walk  where  none  had  walk'd  before, 
About  the  rocks  that  ran  along  the  shore  ; 
Or  far  beyond  the  sight  of  men  to  stray, 
And  take  my  pleasure  when  I  lost  my  way  ; 
For  then  'twas  mine  to  trace  the  hilly  heath, 
And  all  the  mossy  moor  that  lies  beneath  : 
Here  had  I  favourite  stations,  where  I  stood 
And  heard  the  murmurs  of  the  ocean-flood, 
With  not  a  sound  beside  except  when  flew 
Aloft  the  lapwing,  or  the  grey  curlew, 
Who  with  wild  notes  my  fancied  power  defied, 
And  mock'd  the  dreams  of  solitary  pride." 

And  as  Cralihe  evidently  resorts  gladly  to  personal 
experiences  to  make  out  the  material  for  his  work,  the 
same  also  holds  with  regard  to  the  incidental  Tales. 
Crabbe  refers  in  his  Preface  to  two  of  these  as  not 
of  his  own  invention,  and  his  son,  in  the  Notes,  admits 
the  same  of  others.  One,  as  we  have  seen,  happened 
in  the  Elmy  family ;  another  was  sent  him  by  a  friend 
in  Wiltshire,  to  which  county  the  story  belonged; 
while  the  last  in  the  series,  and  perhaps  the  most 
painful  of  all,  Smugglers,  arid  Poachers  Avas  told  to 
Crabbe  by  Sir  Samuel  Romilly,  whom  he  had  met 
at  Hampstead,  only  a  few  weeks  before  Romilly's  own 
tragic  death.  Probably  other  tales,  not  referred  to 
by  Crabbe  or  his  son,  were  also  encountered  by  the 
poet  in  his  intercourse  with  his  parishioners,  or  sub- 
mitted to  him  by  his  friends.  AVe  might  infer  this 
from  the  singular  inequality,  in  interest  and  poetical 
opportunity,  of  the  various  plots  of  these  stories.  Some 
of  them  are  assuredly  not  such  as  any  poet  would  have 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  IG'J 

sat  down  and  elaborated  for  himself,  and  it  is  strange 
how  little  sense  Crabbe  seems  to  have  possessed  as  to 
which  were  worth  treating,  or  could  even  admit  of 
artistic  treatment  at  all.  A  striking  instance  is  afi'orded 
by  the  strange  and  most  unpleasing  history,  entitled 
Lady  Barbara :  or,  TIte  Ghost 

The  story  is  as  follows :  A  young  and  beautiful 
lady  marries  early  a  gentleman  of  good  family  who 
dies  within  a  year  of  their  marriage.  In  spite  of  many 
proposals  she  resolves  to  remain  a  widow ;  and  for  the 
sake  of  congenial  society  and  occupation,  she  finds  a 
home  in  the  family  of  a  pious  clergymaji,  where  she 
devotes  herself  to  his  young  children,  and  makes  her- 
self useful  in  the  parish.  Her  favourite  among  the 
children  is  a  boy,  George,  still  in  the  schoolroom.  The 
boy  grows  apace ;  goes  to  boarding-school  and  college ; 
and  is  on  the  point  of  entering  the  army,  when  he  dis- 
covers that  he  is  madly  in  love  with  the  lady,  still 
an  inmate  of  the  house,  who  had  "mothered  him" 
when  a  child.  No  ages  are  mentioned,  but  we  may 
infer  that  the  young  man  is  then  about  two  and 
twenty,  and  the  lady  something  short  of  forty.  The 
position  is  not  unimaginable,  though  it  may  be  un- 
common. The  idea  of  marrying  one  who  had  been  to 
her  as  a  favourite  child,  seems  to  the  widow  in  the  first 
instance  repulsive  and  almost  criminal.  But  it  turns 
out  that  there  is  another  reason  in  the  background  for 
her  not  re-entering  the  marriage  state,  which  she  dis- 
closes to  the  ardent  youth.  It  appears  that  the  wddow 
had  once  had  a  beloved  brother  who  had  died  cai'ly. 
These  two  had  been  brought  up  by  an  infidel  father, 
who  had  impressed  on  his  children  the  absiu-dity  of  all 
such  ideas  as  immortality.      The  children  had  often 


170  CRABBE  [chap. 

discussed  and  pondered  over  this  subject  together,  and 
had  made  a  compact  that  whichever  of  them  died  first 
should,  if  possible,  appear  to  the  survivor,  and  thus 
solve  the  awful  problem  of  a  future  life.  The  brother 
not  long  after  died  in  foreign  parts.  Immediately  after 
his  death,  before  the  sister  heard  the  news,  the  brother's 
ghost  appeared  in  a  dream,  or  vision,  to  the  sister,  and 
warned  her  in  solemn  tones  against  ever  marrying  a 
second  time.  The  spirit  does  not  appear  to  have  given 
any  reasons,  but  his  manner  was  so  impressive  and  so 
unmistakable  that  the  lady  had  thus  far  regarded  it 
as  an  injunction  never  to  be  disobeyed.  On  hearing  this 
remarkable  story,  the  young  man,  George,  argues  im- 
patiently against  the  trustworthiness  of  dreams,  and 
is  hardly  silenced  by  the  widow  showing  him  on  her 
wrist  the  mark  still  remaining  where  the  spirit  had  seized 
and  pressed  her  hand.  In  fine,  the  impassioned  suitor 
prevails  over  these  superstitious  terrors,  as  he  reckons 
them,  of  the  lady — and  they  become  man  and  wife. 

The  reader  is  here  placed  in  a  condition  of  great 
perplexity,  and  his  curiosity  becomes  breathless.  The 
sequel  is  melancholy  indeed.  After  a  few  months'  union, 
the  young  man,  whose  plausible  eloquence  had  so  moved 
the  widow,  tires  of  his  wife,  ill-treats  her,  and  breaks 
her  heart.  The  Psychical  Society  is  avenged,  and  the 
ghost's  word  was  worth  at  least  "  a  thousand  pounds." 
It  is  difficult  for  us  to  take  such  a  story  seriously,  but 
it  must  have  interested  Crabbe  deeply,  for  he  has 
expended  upon  it  much  of  his  finest  power  of  analysis, 
and  his  most  careful  writing.  As  we  have  seen,  the 
subject  of  dreams  had  always  had  a  fascination  for  him, 
of  a  kind  not  unconnected  perhaps  with  the  opium- 
habit.     The  story,  however  it  was  to  be  treated,  was 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  171 

unpromising ;  but  as  the  d^nmicmcnt  was  what  it  proved 
to  be,  the  astonishing  thing  is  that  Crabbe  should  not 
have  felt  the  dramatic  impropriety  of  putting  into  the 
young  man's  mouth  passages  of  an  impressive,  and 
almost  Shakespearian,  beauty  such  as  are  rare  indeed 
in  his  poetry.  The  following  lines  are  not  indeed 
placed  within  inverted  commas,  but  the  pronoun  "  I " 
is  retained,  and  they  are  apparently  intended  for  some- 
thing passing  in  the  young  suitor's  mind  : 

'  0  !  tell  me  not  of  years, — can  she  be  old  1 
Those  eyes,  those  lips,  can  man  unmoved  behold  1 
Has  time  that  bosom  chill'd  ?  are  cheeks  so  rosy  cold  ? 
No,  she  is  young,  or  I  her  love  t'  engage 
Will  grow  discreet,  and  that  will  seem  like  age  : 
But  speak  it  not ;  Death's  et^ualising  arm 
Levels  not  surer  than  Love's  stronger  charm, 
That  bids  all  inequalities  be  gone, 
That  laughs  at  rank,  that  mocks  comparison. 
There  is  not  young  or  old,  if  Love  decrees  ; 
Ho  levels  orders,  he  confounds  degrees  : 
There  is  not  fair,  or  dark,  or  short,  or  tall, 
Or  grave,  or  sprightly — Love  reduces  all ; 
He  makes  unite  the  pensive  and  the  gay. 
Gives  something  here,  takes  something  there  away  ; 
From  each  abundant  good  a  portion  takes. 
And  for  each  want  a  compensation  makes  ; 
Then  tell  me  not  of  years — Love,  power  divine. 
Takes,  as  he  wills,  from  hers,  and  gives  to  mine." 

In  these  fine  lines  it  is  no  doubt  Crabbe  himself  that 
speaks,  and  not  the  young  lover,  who  was  to  turn  out 
in  the  sequel  an  unparalleled  "cad."  But  then,  what 
becomes  of  dramatic  consistency,  and  the  imperative 
claims  of  art  ] 

In  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Leadbeatcr  already  cited  Crabbe 


172  CRABBE  [chap. 

■writes  as  to  his  forthcoming  collection  of  Tales  :  "  I  do 
not  know,  on  a  general  view,  whether  my  tragic  or 
lighter  Tales,  etc.,  are  most  in  number.  Of  those 
equally  well  executed  the  tragic  will,  I  suppose,  make 
the  greater  impression.'"'  Crabbe  was  right  in  this 
forecast.  "WTiether  more  or  less  in  numl)er,  the  "  tragic  " 
Tales  far  surpass  the  "lighter "in  their  eflFoct  on  the 
reader,  in  the  intensity  of  their  gloom.  Such  stories  as 
that  of  Lcuhj  Barbara,  Delay  has  Danger,  The  Sisters,  Ellen, 
Smugglers  ami  Poachers,  Richard's  story  of  Rath,  and 
the  elder  brother's  account  of  his  own  early  attachment, 
with  its  miserable  sequel — all  these  are  of  a  poignant 
painfulness.  Human  crime,  eri^or,  or  selfishness  work- 
ing life-long  misery  to  others — this  is  the  theme  to 
which  Crabbe  turns  again  and  again,  and  on  which  he 
bestows  a  really  marvellous  power  of  analysis.  There 
is  never  wanting,  side  by  side  with  these,  what  Crabbe 
doubtless  believed  to  be  the  compensating  presence  of 
much  that  is  lovable  in  human  character,  patience, 
resignation,  forgiveness.  But  the  resultant  effect,  it 
must  be  confessed,  is  often  the  reverse  of  cheering. 
The  fine  lines  of  Wordsworth  as  to 

"  Sorrow  that  is  not  sorrow,  but  delight ; 
And  miserable  love,  that  is  not  pain 
To  hear  of,  for  the  glory  that  redounds 
Therefrom  to  human  kind,  and  what  we  arc," 

fail  to  console  us  as  we  read  these  later  stories  of 
Crabbe.  We  part  from  too  many  of  them  not,  on  the 
whole,  with  a  livelier  faith  in  human  nature.  We  are 
crushed  by  the  exhibition  of  so  much  that  is  abnormally 
base  and  sordid. 

The  Tales  of  the  Hall  are  full  of  surprises  even  to 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  173 

those  familiar  with  Crabbe's  earlier  poems.  He  can 
still  allow  couplets  to  staiul  Avhich  are  perilously  near 
to  doggerel ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  when  his  deepest 
interest  in  the  fortunes  of  his  characters  is  aroused,  he 
rises  at  times  to  real  eloquence,  if  never  to  poetry's 
supremest  heights.  Moreover,  the  poems  contain 
passages  of  description  which  for  truth  to  Nature, 
touched  by  real  imagination,  are  finer  than  anything 
he  had  yet  achieved.  The  story  entitled  Ddaii  has 
JJanger  contains  the  fine  picture  of  an  autumn  land- 
scape seen  through  the  eyes  of  the  miserable  lover — 
the  picture  which  dwelt  so  firmly  in  the  memory  of 
Tennyson  : 

"  That  evening  all  in  fond  discourse  was  spent, 
When  the  sad  lover  to  his  chamber  ■went, 
To  think  on  what  had  pass'd,  to  grieve,  and  to  repent  : 
Early  he  rose,  and  look'd  with  many  a  sigh 
On  the  red  light  that  fill'd  the  eastern  sky  : 
Oft  had  he  stood  before,  alert  and  gay. 
To  hail  the  glories  of  the  new-born  day  ; 
But  now  dejected,  languid,  listless,  low, 
He  saw  the  wind  upon  the  water  blow, 
And  the  cold  stream  curl'd  onward  as  the  gale 
From  the  pine-hill  blew  harshly  down  the  dale  ; 
On  the  riglit  side  the  youth  a  wood  survcy'd, 
With  all  its  dark  intensity  of  shade  ; 
Where  the  rough  wind  alone  was  heard  to  move, 
In  this,  the  pause  of  nature  and  of  love, 
When  now  the  young  are  rear'd,  and  when  the  old. 
Lost  to  the  tie,  grow  negligent  and  cold — 
Far  to  the  left  he  saw  the  huts  of  men, 
Half  hid  in  mist  that  hung  upon  the  fen  ; 
Before  him  swallows,  gathering  for  the  sea. 
Took  their  short  flights,  and  twitter'd  on  the  lea  ; 
And  near  the  bean-sheaf  stood,  the  harvest  done, 
And  slowly  blacken'd  in  the  sickly  sun  ; 


174  CRABBE  [chap. 

All  these  were  sad  in  nature,  or  they  took 
Sadness  from  him,  the  likeness  of  his  look. 
And  of  his  mind — he  ponder'd  for  a  while, 
Then  met  his  Funny  with  a  borrow'd  smile." 

The  entire  story,  from  which  this  is  an  extract,  is 
finely  told,  and  the  fitness  of  the  passage  is  beyond  dis- 
pute. At  other  times  the  description  is  either  so  much 
above  the  level  of  the  narrative,  or  below  it,  as  to  be 
almost  startling.  In  the  very  first  pages  of  Tales  of  thi 
Hall,  in  the  account  of  the  elder  brother's  early  retire- 
ment from  business,  occur  the  following  musical  lines : 

"  He  chose  his  native  village,  and  the  hill 
He  climb'd  a  boy  had  its  attraction  still ; 
With  that  small  brook  beneath,  where  he  would  stand 
And  stooping  fill  the  hollow  of  his  hand 
To  quench  th'  impatient  thirst — then  stop  awhile 
To  see  the  sun  upon  the  waters  smile, 
In  that  sweet  weariness,  when,  long  denied. 
We  drink  and  view  the  fountain  that  supplied 
The  sparkling  bliss— and  feel,  if  not  express, 
Our  perfect  ease  in  that  sweet  weariness." 

Yet  it  is  only  a  hundred  lines  further  on  that,  to 
indicate  the  elder  brother's  increasing  interest  in  the 
»raver  concerns  of  human  thought,  Crabbe  can  write : 

"  He  then  proceeded,  not  so  much  intent. 
But  still  in  earnest,  and  to  church  he  went : 
Although  they  found  some  difference  in  their  creed, 
He  and  his  pastor  cordially  agreed  ; 
Convinced  that  they  who  would  the  truth  obtain 
By  disputation,  find  their  efforts  vain  ; 
The  church  he  view'd  as  liberal  minds  will  view, 
And  there  he  fix'd  his  principles  and  pew." 

Among  those  surprises  to  which  I  have  referred  is 
the  apparently  recent  development  in  the  poet  of  a 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  175 

lyrical  gift,  the  like  ^f  which  he  had  not  exhibited 
before.      Crabbe    had    already   written    two    notable 
poems  in  stanzas,  Sir  Eustace  Grey,  and  that  other  pain- 
ful but  exceedingly   powerful   drama    in   monologue, 
The  Hall  of  Justice.     But  since  the  appearance  of  his 
last  volumes,   Crabbe   had  formed   some  quite   novel 
poetical  friendships,   and   it   would   seem   likely  that 
association  with  Rogers,  though  he  saw  and  felt  that 
elegant  poet's  deficiencies  as  a  painter  of  human  life, 
had  encouraged  him  to  try  an  experiment  in  his  friend's 
special  vein.     One  of  the  most  depressing  stories  in  the 
series  is  that  of  the  elder  brother's  ill-fated  passion  for 
a  beautiful  girl,  to  whom  ho  had  been  the  accidental 
means  of  rendering  a  vital  service  in  rescuing  her  and 
a   companion   from  the    "  rude    inicivil    kine "    in    a 
meadow.     To  the  image  of  this  girl,  though  he  never 
set  eyes  on  her  again  for  many  years,  he  had  remained 
faithful.      The  next  meeting,   when  at  last  it  came, 
brought  the  most  terrible  of  disillusions.     Sent  by  his 
chief  to  transact  certain  business  with  a  wealthy  banker 
("Clutterbuck  &  Co."),  the  young  merchant  calls  at 
a  villa  where  the  banker  at  times  resided,  and  finds 
that  the  object  of  his  old  love  and  his  fondest  dreams 
i3    there    installed    as   the    banker's    mistress.      She 
is  greatly  moved  at  the  sight  of  the  youthful  lover  of 
old  days,  who,  with  more  chivalry  than  prudence,  offers 
forgiveness  if  she  will  break  off  this  degrading  alliance. 
She  cannot  resolve  to  take  the  step.     She  has  become 
used  to  luxury  and  continuous  amusement,  and  she 
cannot  face  the  return  to  a  duller  domesticity.    Finally, 
however,  she  dies  penitent,  and  it  is  the  contemplation 
of  her  life  and  death  that  works  a  life-long  change  in 
the  ambitions  and  aims  of  the  old  lover.     He  wearies 


176  CRABBE  [chap. 

of  money-making,  and  retires  to  lead  a  country  life, 
where  he  may  be  of  some  good  to  his  neighbours,  and 
turn  to  some  worthy  use  the  time  that  may  be  still 
allowed  him.  The  story  is  told  with  real  pathos  and 
impressive  force.  But  the  picture  is  spoiled  by  the 
tasteless  interpolation  of  a  song  which  the  unhappy 
girl  sings  to  her  lover,  at  the  very  moment  apparently 
when  she  has  resolved  that  she  can  never  be  his  : 

"  My  Damon  was  the  first  to  wake 

The  gentle  flame  that  cannot  die  ; 
My  Damon  is  the  last  to  take 

The  faithful  bosom's  softest  sigh  ; 
The  life  between  is  nothing  worth, 

0  !  cast  it  from  thy  thought  away  ; 
Tliink  of  the  day  that  gave  it  birth, 

And  this  its  sweet  returning  day. 

"  Buried  be  all  that  has  been  done. 

Or  say  that  nought  is  done  amiss  ; 
For  who  the  dangerous  path  can  shun 

In  such  bewildering  world  as  this  ? 
But  love  can  every  fault  forgive, 

Or  with  a  tender  look  reprove  ; 
And  now  let  nought  in  memory  live, 

But  that  we  meet,  and  that  we  love." 

The  lines  are  pretty  enough,  and  may  be  described 
as  a  blend  of  Tom  Moore  and  Rogers.  A  similar  lyric, 
in  the  story  called  The  Sisters,  might  have  come  straight 
from  the  pen  which  has  given  us  "  Mine  be  a  cot  beside 
a  hill,"  and  is  not  so  wholly  irrelevant  to  its  context 
as  the  one  just  cited. 

Since  Crabbe's  death  in  1832,  though  he  has  never 
been  without  a  small  and  loyal  band  of  admirers,  no 
single  influence  has  probably  had  so  much  effect  in 
reviving   interest   in   his   poetry   as   that   of   Edward 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  177 

FitzGerald,  the  translator  of  Omar  Khayyam.  Fitz- 
Gerald  was  born  and  lived  the  greater  part  of  his 
life  ill  Suffolk,  and  CrabljC  was  a  native  of  Aldeljurgh, 
and  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  till  he  was  grown  to 
manhood.  This  circumstance  alone  might  not  have 
specially  interested  FitzGerald  in  the  poet,  ])ut  for  the 
fact  that  the  temperament  of  the  two  men  was  some- 
what the  same,  and  that  both  dwelt  naturally  on  the 
depressing  sides  of  hum.an  life.  But  there  were  other 
coincidences  to  create  a  strong  tie  between  FitzGerald 
and  the  poet's  family.  AVhen  FitzGerald's  father  went 
to  live  at  Boulge  Hall,  near  Woodbridge,  in  1835, 
Crabbe's  son  George  had  recently  been  presented 
to  the  vicarage  of  the  adjoining  parish  of  Bredfield 
(FitzGerald's  native  village),  which  he  continued  to 
hold  until  his  death  in  1857.  During  these  two 
and  twenty  years,  FitzGerald  and  George  Crabbe 
remained  on  the  closest  terms  of  friendship,  which 
was  continued  with  George  Crabbe's  son  (a  third 
George),  who  became  ultimately  rector  of  Merton  in 
Norfolk.  It  was  at  his  house,  it  will  be  remembered, 
that  FitzGerald  died  suddenly  in  the  summer  of  1883. 
Through  this  long  association  ^vith  the  family  Fitz- 
Gerald was  gradually  acquiring  information  concerning 
the  poet,  which  even  the  son's  Biography  had  not 
supplied.  Keaders  of  FitzGerald's  delighful  Letters 
will  remember  that  there  is  no  name  more  constantly 
referred  to  than  that  of  Crabbe.  AVhether  wi-iting 
to  Fanny  Kemble,  or  Frederick  Tennyson,  or  Lowell, 
he  is  constantly  quoting  him,  and  recommendhig  him. 
During  the  thirty  years  that  followed  Crabbe's 
death  his  fame  had  l^ecn  on  the  decline,  and  poets 
of  different   and  greater  gifts   had  taken   his   place. 

M 


178  CRABBE  [chap. 

FitzGerald  had  noted  this  fact  with  ever-increasing 
regret,  and  longed  to  revive  the  taste  for  a  poet  of 
whose  merits  he  had  himself  no  doubt.  He  discerned 
moreover  that  even  those  who  had  read  in  their  youth 
The  Village  and  The  Bwough  had  been  repelled  by  the 
length,  and  perhaps  by  the  monotonous  sadness,  of  the 
Tales  of  the  Hall.  It  was  for  this  reason  apparently 
(and  not  because  he  assigned  a  higher  place  to  the  later 
poetry  than  to  the  earlier)  that  he  was  led,  after  some 
years  of  misgiving,  to  prepare  a  volume  of  selections 
from  this  latest  work  of  Cral>be's  which  might  have  the 
effect  of  tempting  the  reader  to  master  it  as  a  whole. 
Owing  to  the  length  and  uniformity  of  Crabbe's  verse, 
what  Avas  ordinarily  called  an  "anthology"  was  out  of 
the  question.  FitzGerald  was  restricted  to  a  single 
method.  He  found  that  readers  were  impatient  of 
Crabbe's  longueurs.  It  occurred  to  him  that  while 
making  large  omissions  he  might  preserve  the  story  in 
each  case,  by  substituting  brief  prose  abstracts  of  the 
portions  omitted.  This  process  he  applied  to  the  Tales 
that  pleased  him  most,  leaAnng  what  he  considered 
Crabbe's  best  passages  untouched.  As  early  as  1876 
he  refers  to  the  selection  as  already  made,  and  he 
printed  it  for  private  circulation  in  1879.  Finally,  in 
1882,  he  added  a  preface  of  his  own,  and  published  it 
with  Quaritch  in  Piccadilly. 

In  his  preface  FitzGerald  claims  for  Crabbe's  latest 
work  that  the  net  impression  left  by  it  upon  the  reader 
is  less  sombre  and  painful  than  that  left  by  his  earlier 
poems.  "It  contains, "he  urges,  "scarce  anything  of  that 
brutal  or  sordid  villainy  of  which  one  has  more  than 
enough  in  the  poet's  earlier  work."  Perhaps  there  is 
not  so  much  of  the  "brutal  or  sordid,"  but  then  in  The 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  179 

ParUh  Register  or  21ie  TlurouyJb,  the  reader  is  in  a  way 
prepared  for  that  ingredient,  because  the  personages 
are  the  lawless  and  neglected  poor  of  a  lonely  seaport. 
It  is  because,  when  ho  moves  no  longer  among  these, 
he  yet  finds  vice  and  misery  quite  as  abundant  in  "a 
village  with  its  tidy  homestead,  and  well-to-do  tenants, 
within  easy  reach  of  a  thriving  country-town,"  that  a 
certain  shock  is  given  to  the  reader.  He  discovers  that 
all  the  evil  passions  intrude  (like  pale  Death)  into  the 
comfortable  villa  as  impartially  as  into  the  hovels  at 
Aldeburgh.  But  FitzGerald  had  found  a  sufficient 
alleviation  of  the  gloom  in  the  framework  of  the  Tales. 
The  growing  affection  of  the  two  brothers,  as  they  come 
to  know  and  understand  each  other  better,  is  one  of 
the  consistently  pleasant  passages  in  Crabbc's  writings. 
The  concluding  words  of  FitzGerald's  preface,  as  the 
little  volume  is  out  of  print  and  very  scarce,  I  may  be 
allowed  to  quote  : — 

"  Is  Crabbe  then,  whatever  shape  he  may  take,  worth 
making  room  for  in  our  over-crowded  heads  and  libraries  1 
If  the  verdict  of  such  critics  as  JefJrey  and  Wilson  be  set 
down  to  contemporary  partiabty  or  inferior  '  culture,'  there  is 
Miss  Auston,  who  is  now  so  great  an  authority  in  the  rejjre- 
sentation  of  ^runteel  humanity,  so  unaccountably  smitten  with 
Crabbe  in  liis  worsted  hose  tliat  she  is  said  to  have  pleasantly 
declared  he  was  the  only  man  whom  she  would  care  to  marry. 
If  Sir  ^\'alte^  Scott  and  Byron  are  but  unaesthctic  judges  of  the 
poet,  there  is  Wordsworth  who  was  sufficiently  excbisive  in 
admitting  any  to  the  sacred  brotherhood  in  which  he  still 
reigns,  and  far  too  honest  to  make  any  exception  out  of 
compliment  to  any  one  on  any  occasion— he  did  nevertheless 
thus  write  to  the  poet's  son  and  biographer  in  1834:  'Any 
testimony  to  the  merit  of  your  revered  father's  works  would, 
I  feel,  be  superfluous,  if  not  impertinent.  They  will  last 
from  their  combined  merits  as  poetry  and  truth,  full  as  long 


180  CKABBE  [chap. 

as  anything  tliat  has  been  expressed  in  verse  since  they  first 
made  their  appearance ' — a  period  which,  be  it  noted,  includes 
all  Wordsworth's  own  volumes  except  Yarrow  Revisited,  The 
Prelude,  and  The  Borderers.  And  Wordsworth's  living  suc- 
cessor to  the  laurel  no  less  participates  with  him  in  his 
appreciation  of  their  forgotten  brother.  Almost  the  last  time 
I  met  hiin  he  was  quoting  from  memory  that  fine  passage  in 
Delay  has  Danger,  where  the  late  autumn  landscape  seems  to 
borrow  from  the  conscience-stricken  lover  who  gazes  on  it  the 
gloom  which  it  reflects  upon  him  ;  and  in  the  course  of  further 
conversation  on  the  subject  Mr.  Tennyson  added,  '  Crabbe  has 
a  world  of  his  own ' ;  by  virtue  of  that  original  genius,  I 
suppose,  which  is  said  to  entitle  and  carry  the  possessor  to 
what  we  call  immortality." 

Besides  the  stories  selected  for  abridgment  in  the 
volume  there  were  passages,  from  Tales  not  there 
included,  which  FitzGerald  was  never  weary  of  citing 
in  his  letters,  to  show  his  friends  how  true  a  poet 
was  lying  neglected  of  men.  One  he  specially  loved 
is  the  description  of  an  autumn  day  in  The  Maid's 
Story : — 

"  There  was  a  day,  ere  yet  the  autumn  closed. 
When,  ere  her  wintry  wars,  the  earth  reposed  ; 
When  from  the  yellow  weed  the  feathery  crown, 
Light  as  the  curling  smoke,  fell  slowly  down  ; 
When  the  wing'd  insect  settled  in  our  sight. 
And  waited  wind  to  recommence  her  flight ; 
When  the  wide  river  was  a  silver  sheet, 
And  on  the  ocean  slept  th'  unanchor'd  fleet, 
When  from  our  garden,  as  we  looked  above, 
There  was  no  cloud,  and  nothing  seemed  to  move." 

Another  passage,  also  in  Crabbe's  sweeter  vein, 
forms  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  poem.  It  is  where 
the  elder    brother    hands    over  to    the  younger  the 


X.]  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  181 

country  house  thai  is  to  form  the  fulure  home  of  his 
wife  and  children  :— 

"  It  i.H  thy  wife's,  and  will  thy  cliildren's  1)0, 
Earth,  wood,  and  water  !  all  for  thine  and  thee. 

There  wilt  thou  soon  thy  own  Matilda  view. 
She  knows  our  deed,  and  she  approves  it  too  ; 
Before  her  all  our  views  and  plans  were  laid, 
And  Jacques  was  there  to  explain  and  to  persuade. 
Here  on  thi.s  lawn  thy  boys  and  girls  shall  run. 
And  play  their  gambols  when  their  tasks  are  done, 
There,  from  that  window  shall  their  mother  view 
The  happy  tribe,  and  smile  at  all  they  di>  ; 
While  thou,  more  gravely,  hiding  thy  delight 
Shalt  cry,  '  0  I  childish  ! '  and  enjoy  the  sight." 

FitzGerald's  selections  are  made  with  the  skill  and 
judgment  we  should  expect  from  a  critic  of  so  fine  a 
taste,  but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  degree  of 
skill  could  have  quite  atoned  for  one  radical  flaw  in  his 
method.  He  seems  to  have  had  his  own  misgivings 
as  to  whether  ho  was  not,  by  that  method,  giving  up 
one  real  secret  of  Crabbe's  power.  After  quoting  Sir 
Leslie  Stephen's  most  true  remark  that  "with  all  its 
short-  and  long-comings  Crabbe's  better  work  leaves  its 
mark  on  the  reader's  mind  and  memory  as  only  the 
work  of  genius  can,  while  so  many  a  more  splendid 
vision  of  the  fancy  slips  away,  leaving  scarce  a  mark 
behind,"  FitzGerald  adds:  "If  this  abiding  impi'cs- 
sion  result  (as  perhaps  in  the  case  of  Richardson  or 
Wordsworth)  from  being,  as  it  were,  soaked  in  through 
the  longer  process  l)y  which  the  man's  peculiar  genius 
works,  any  abridgement,  whether  of  omission  or 
epitome,  will  diminish  from  the  effect  of  the  whole." 
FitzGerald  is  unquestionably  iu  sight  of  a  truth  here. 


182  CRABBE  [chaf. 

The  parallel  with  Wordsworth  is  indeed  not  exact,  for 
the  best  of  Wordsworth's  poetry  neither  requires  nor 
admits  of  condensation.  The  Excurdon  might  benefit  by 
omission  and  compression,  but  not  Tlie  Solitary  Eeajier, 
nor  The  Daffodils.  But  the  example  of  Richardson  is 
fairly  in  point.  Abridgments  of  Clarissa  Harlowe  have 
been  attempted,  but  probably  without  any  effect  on 
the  number  of  its  readers.  The  power  of  Richardson's 
method  does  actually  lie  in  the  "soaking  process"  to 
which  FitzGerald  refers.  Nor  is  it  otherwise  with 
Crabbe.  The  fascination  which  his  readers  find  in  him 
— readers  not  perhaps  found  in  the  ranks  of  those  who 
prefer  their  poetry  on  "  hand-made  paper  " — is  really  the 
result  of  the  slow  and  patient  dissection  of  motive  and 
temptation,  the  workings  of  conscience,  the  gradual 
development  of  character.  These  processes  are  slow, 
and  Crabbe's  method  of  presenting  them  is  slow,  but 
he  attains  his  end.  A  distinction  has  lately  been 
drawn  between  "literary  Poetry,"  and  "Poetry  which 
is  Literature."  Crablie's  is  rarely  indeed  that  of  the 
former  class.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  it  has  taken  its 
place  in  the  latter. 

The  apology  for  Crabbe's  lengthiness  might  almost 
be  extended  to  the  singular  inequalities  of  his  verse. 
FitzGerald  joins  all  other  critics  in  regretting  his  care- 
lessness, and  indeed  the  charge  can  hardly  be  called 
harsh.  A  poet  who  habitually  insists  on  producing 
thirty  lines  a  day,  whether  or  no  the  muse  is  willing, 
can  hardly  escape  temptations  to  carelessness.  Crabbe's 
friends  and  other  contemporaries  noted  it,  and  ex- 
pressed surprise  at  the  absence  in  Crabbe  of  the  artistic 
conscience.  Wordsworth  spoke  to  him  on  the  subject, 
and  ventured  to  express  regret  that  he  did  not  take 


X.J  THE  TALES  OF  THE  HALL  183 

more  pains  with  the  workmanship  of  his  verse,  and 
reports  that  Crabbo's  only  answer  was  "it  does  not 
matter."  Samuel  Kogers  had  related  to  Wordsworth 
a  similar  expericnee.  "  Mr.  Rogers  once  told  me  that 
he  expressed  his  regret  to  Crabbe  that  he  wrote  in  his 
later  works  so  much  less  correctly  than  in  his  earlier. 
'Yes,'  replied  he,  'but  then  I  had  a  reputation  to 
make;  now  I  can  afford  to  relax.'"  This  is  of  course 
very  sad,  and,  as  has  already  been  urged,  Crabbe's 
earlier  works  had  the  advantage  of  much  criticism,  and 
even  correction  from  his  friends.  But  however  this 
may  be,  it  may  fairly  be  urged  that  in  a  "  downright " 
painter  of  human  life,  with  that  passion  for  realism 
which  Crabbe  was  one  of  the  first  to  bring  back  into 
our  literature,  mere  "polish"  would  have  hindered,  not 
helped,  the  effects  he  was  bent  on  producing.  It  is 
difhcult  in  polishing  the  heroic  couplet  not  to  produce 
the  impression  of  seeking  epigrammatic  point.  In 
Crali])e's  strenuous  and  merciless  analyses  of  human 
character  his  power  would  have  been  often  weakened, 
had  attention  Ijcen  diverted  from  the  whole  to  the  parts, 
and  from  the  matter  to  the  manner.  The  "finish"  of 
Gray,  Goldsmith,  and  Rogers  suited  exquisitely  with 
their  pensive  musings  on  Human  Life.  It  was  other- 
wise with  the  stern  presentment  of  such  stories  of 
humau  sin  and  misery  as  Edward  Shore,  or  Delay  1ms 
Danger, 


CHAPTER    XI 

LAST   YEARS   AT   TROWBRIDGE 

(1819—1832) 

The  last  thirteen  years  of  Crabbo's  life  were  spent  at 
Trowbridge,  varied  by  occasional  absences  among  his 
friends  at  Bath  and  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  by 
annual  visits  of  greater  length  to  the  family  of  Samuel 
Hoare  at  Hampstead.  Meantime  his  son  John  was 
resident  with  him  at  Trowbridge,  and  the  parish  and 
parishioners  were  not  neglected.  From  Mrs.  Hoare's 
house  on  HamiDstead  Heath  it  was  not  difficult  to 
visit  his  literary  friends  in  London ;  and  WordsAvorth, 
Southey,  and  others,  occasionally  stayed  with  the 
family.  But  as  early  as  1820,  Crabbe  became  subject 
to  frequent  severe  attacks  of  neuralgia  (then  called  He 
douloureux),  and  this  malady,  together  with  the  gradual 
approach  of  old  age,  made  him  less  and  less  able  to  face 
the  fatigue  of  London  hospitalities. 

Notwithstanding  his  failing  health,  and  not  in- 
frequent absence  from  his  parish — for  he  occasionally 
visited  the  Isle  of  AVight,  Hastings,  and  other  watering- 
places  with  his  Hampstead  friends — Crabbe  was  living 
down  at  Trowbridge  much  of  the  unpopularity  with 
which  he  had  started.  The  people  wore  beginning 
to  discover  what  sterling  qualities  of  heart  existed  side 
by  side  with  defects  of  tact  and  temjier,  and  the  lack 

184 


cuAi'.  XI.  J     LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  185 

of  sympathy  ^vith  certain  sides  of  evangelical  teaching. 
His  son  tells  us,  and  may  be  trusted,  that  his  father's 
personal  piety  deepened  in  his  declining  years,  an 
influence  which  could  not  be  ineffectual.  Children, 
moreover,  were  growing  up  in  the  family,  and  proved  a 
new  source  of  interest  and  happiness.  Pucklechurch 
was  not  far  away,  and  his  son  George's  eldest  girl, 
Caroline,  as  she  approached  her  fourth  birthday,  began 
to  receive  from  him  the  tcnderest  of  letters. 

The  most  important  incident  in  Crabbe's  life  during 
this  period  was  his  visit  to  Walter  Scott  in  Edinburgh 
in  the  early  autumn  of  1822.  In  the  spring  of  that 
year,  Crabbe  had  for  the  first  time  met  Scott  in 
London,  and  Scott  had  obtained  from  him  a  promise 
that  he  would  visit  him  in  Scotland  in  the  autumn.  It 
so  fell  out  that  George  the  Fourth,  who  had  been 
crowned  in  the  previous  year,  and  was  paying  a  series 
of  Coronation  progresses  through  his  dominions,  had 
arranged  to  visit  Edinburgh  in  the  August  of  this  year. 
Whether  Crabbe  deliberately  chose  the  same  period  for 
his  own  visit,  or  stumbled  on  it  accidentally,  and  Scott 
did  not  care  to  disappoint  his  proposed  guest,  is  not 
made  quite  clear  by  Crabbe's  biographer.  Scott  had 
to  move  with  all  his  family  to  his  house  in  Edinburgh 
for  the  great  occasion,  and  he  would  no  doubt  have 
much  preferred  to  receive  Crabbe  at  Abbotsford. 
Moreover,  it  fell  to  Scott,  as  the  most  distinguished 
man  of  letters  and  archaeologist  in  Edinburgh,  to 
organise  all  the  ceremonies  and  the  festivities  necessary 
for  the  King's  reception.  In  Lockhart's  phrase,  Scott 
stage-managed  the  whole  business.  And  it  was  on 
Scott's  return  from  receiving  the  King  on  board  the 
Royal  yacht  on  the   lith  of  August  that  he  found 


186  CRABBE  [chap. 

awaiting  him  in  Castle  Street  one  who  must  have 
been  an  inconvenient  guest.  The  incidents  of  this  first 
meeting  are  so  charmingly  related  by  Lockhart  that  I 
cannot  resist  repeating  them  in  his  words,  well  known 
though  they  may  be  : — 

"On  receiving  the  poet  on  the  quarter-deck,  his  Majesty 
called  for  a  bottle  of  Highland  whisky,  and  having  drunk  his 
health  in  this  national  liquor,  desired  a  glass  to  be  filled  for 
him.  Sir  Walter,  after  draining  his  own  bumper,  made  a 
request  that  the  king  would  condescend  to  bestow  on  him  the 
glass  out  of  which  his  Majesty  had  just  drunk  his  health  :  and 
this  being  granted,  the  precious  vessel  was  inmiediately 
wrapped  up  and  carefully  deposited  in  what  he  conceived  to 
be  the  safest  part  of  his  dress.  So  he  returned  with  it  to 
Castle  Street ;  but— to  say  nothing  at  this  moment  of  graver 
distractions — on  reaching  his  house  he  found  a  guest  estab- 
Hshed  there  of  a  sort  rather  different  from  the  usual  visitors 
of  the  time.  The  Poet  Crabbe,  to  whom  he  had  been  intro- 
duced when  last  in  London  by  Mr.  Murray  of  Albemarle 
Street,  after  repeatedly  promising  to  follow  up  the  acquaint- 
ance by  an  excursion  to  the  North,  had  at  last  arrived  in  the 
midst  of  these  tumultuous  preparations  for  the  royal  advent. 
Notwithstanding  all  such  impediments,  he  found  his  quarters 
ready  for  him,  and  Scott  entering,  wet  and  hurried,  embraced 
the  venerable  man  with  brotherly  affection.  The  royal  gift 
was  forgotten — the  ample  skirt  of  the  coat  within  which  it  had 
been  packed,  and  which  he  had  hitherto  held  cautiously  in 
front  of  his  person,  slipped  back  to  its  more  usual  position — 
he  sat  down  beside  Crabbe,  and  the  glass  was  crushed  to 
atoms.  His  scream  and  gesture  made  his  wife  conclude  that 
he  had  sat  down  on  a  pair  of  scissors,  or  the  like  :  but  very 
little  harm  had  been  done  except  the  breaking  of  the  glass,  of 
which  alone  he  had  been  thinking.  This  was  a  damage  not  to 
be  repaired :  as  for  the  scratch  that  accompanied  it,  its  scar 
was  of  no  great  consequence,  as  even  when  mounting  the 
'  cat-dath,  or  battle-garment '  of  the  Celtic  Club,  he  adhered, 
like  his  hero,  Waverley,  to  the  trews." 


XI.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  187 

What  follows  in  Lockhart's  pages  is  also  too  interest- 
ing, as  regards  Scott's  visitor  himself,  to  be  omitted. 
The  Highland  clans,  or  what  remained  of  them,  were 
represented  on  the  occasion,  and  added  greatly  to  the 
picturesquenoss  of  the  procession  and  other  pageantry. 
And  this  is  what  occurred  on  the  morning  after  the 
meeting  of  Scott  and  his  guest : — 

"  By  six  o'clock  next  morning  Sir  Walter,  arrayed  in  the 
'  Garb  of  old  Gaul,'  (which  he  had  of  the  Campbell  tartan,  in 
memory  of  one  of  his  great-grandmothers)  was  attending  a 
muster  of  these  gallant  Celts  in  the  Queen  Street  Gardens, 
where  he  had  the  honour  of  presenting  them  with  a  set  of 
colours,  and  delivered  a  suitable  exhortation,  crowned  with 
their  rapturous  applause.  Some  members  of  the  Club,  all  of 
course  in  their  full  costume,  were  invited  to  breakfast  with 
him.  He  had  previously  retired  for  a  little  to  his  library,  and 
when  he  entered  the  parlour,  Mr.  Crabbe,  dressed  in  the 
highest  style  of  professional  neatness  and  decorum,  with 
buckles  in  his  shoes,  and  whatever  was  then  befitting  an 
English  clergyman  of  his  years  and  station,  was  standing  in 
the  midst  of  half-a-dozen  stalwart  Highlanders,  exchanging 
elaborate  civilities  with  them  in  what  was  at  least  meant  to 
be  French.  He  had  come  into  the  room  shortly  before,  with- 
out having  been  warned  about  such  company,  and  hearing  the 
party  conversing  together  in  an  unknown  tongue,  the  polite 
old  man  had  adopted,  in  his  first  salutation,  what  he  con- 
sidered as  the  universal  language.  Some  of  the  Celts,  on  their 
part,  took  him  for  some  foreign  Abb6  or  Bishop,  and  were 
doing  their  best  to  explain  to  him  that  they  were  not  the 
wild  savages  for  which,  from  the  startled  glance  he  had  thrown 
on  their  hirsute  proportions,  there  seemed  but  too  much  reason 
to  suspect  he  had  taken  them  ;  others,  more  perspicacious, 
gave  in  to  the  thing  for  the  joke's  sake  ;  and  there  was  high 
fun  when  Scott  dissolved  the  charm  of  their  stammering,  Ijy 
grasping  Crabbe  with  one  hand,  and  the  nearest  of  these 
figures  with  the  other,  and  greeted  the  whole  group  with  the 
same  hearty  good- morning." 


188  CRABBE  [chap. 

In  spite,  however,  of  banquets  (at  one  of  •which 
Crabbe  was  present)  and  other  constant  calls  upon  his 
host's  time  and  labour,  the  southern  poet  contrived  to 
enjoy  himself.  He  wandered  into  the  oldest  parts  of 
Edinburgh,  and  Scott  obtained  for  him  the  services  of 
a  friendly  caddie  to  accompany  him  on  some  of  these 
occasions  lest  the  old  parson  should  come  to  any  harm. 
Lockhart,  who  was  of  the  party  in  Castle  Street,  was 
very  attentive  to  Scott's  visitor.  Crabbe  had  but  few 
opportunities  of  seeing  Scott  alone.  "They  had," 
writes  Lockhart,  "  but  one  quiet  walk  together,  and  it 
was  to  the  ruins  of  St.  Anthony's  Chapel  and  Mushat's 
Cairn,  which  the  deep  impression  made  on  Crabbe  by 
The  Heart  of  Midlothian  had  given  him  an  earnest  wish 
to  see.  I  accompanied  them ;  and  the  hour  so  spent — 
in  the  course  of  which  the  fine  old  man  gave  us  some 
most  touching  anecdotes  of  his  early  struggles — was  a 
truly  delightful  contrast  to  the  bustle  and  worry  of 
miscellaneous  society  which  consumed  so  many  of  his 
few  hours  in  Scotland.  Scott's  family  were  more 
fortunate  than  himself  in  this  respect.  They  had  from 
infancy  been  taught  to  reverence  Crabbe's  genius,  and 
they  now  saw  enough  of  him  to  make  them  think  of 
him  ever  afterwards  Avith  tender  affection." 

Yet  one  more  trait  of  Scott's  interest  in  his  guest 
should  not  be  omitted.  The  strain  upon  Scott's 
strength  of  the  King's  visit  was  made  more  severe  by 
the  death  during  that  fortnight  of  Scott's  old  and  dear 
friend,  William  Erskine,  only  a  few  months  before 
elevated  to  the  bench  with  the  title  of  Lord  Kinedder. 
Erskine  had  been  irrecoverably  wounded  by  the  circu- 
lation of  a  cruel  and  unfounded  slander  upon  his  moral 
character.     It  so  preyed  on  his  mind  that  its  effect  was, 


XI.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  189 

in  Scott's  words,  to  "  torture  to  death  one  of  the  most 
soft-hearted  and  sensitive  of  God's  creatures."  On  the 
very  day  of  the  King's  arrival  he  died,  after  high  fever 
and  delirium  had  set  in,  and  his  funeral,  which  Scott 
attciulcd,  followed  in  duo  course.  "I  am  not  aware," 
says  Lockhart,  "  that  I  ever  saw  Scott  in  such  a  state 
of  dejection  as  he  was  when  I  accompanied  him  and 
his  friend  Mr.  Thomas  Thomson  from  Edinburgh  to 
Queensferry  in  attendance  upon  Lord  Kinedder's 
funeral.  Yet  that  was  one  of  the  noisiest  days  of  the 
royal  festival,  and  he  had  to  plunge  into  some  scene  of 
high  gaiety  the  moment  after  we  returned.  As  we 
halted  in  Castle  Street,  Mr.  Crabhe's  mild,  thoughtful 
face  appeared  at  the  window,  and  Scott  said,  on  leaving 
me,  '  Now  for  what  our  old  friend  there  puts  down  as 
the  crowning  curse  of  his  poor  player  in  The  Bwough : — 

"  To  hide  in  rant  the  heart-ache  of  the  night." ' " 

There  is  pathos  in  the  recollection  that  just  ten  years 
later  when  Scott  lay  in  his  study  at  Abbotsford — the 
strength  of  that  nol)le  mind  slowly  ebbing  away — the 
very  passage  in  The  Boi'ough  just  quoted  was  one  of 
those  he  asked  to  have  read  to  him.  It  is  the  graphic 
and  touching  account  in  Letter  XII.  of  the  "  Strolling 
Players,"  and  as  the  description  of  their  struggles  and 
their  squalor  fell  afresh  upon  his  ear,  his  own 
excursions  into  matters  theatrical  recurred  to  him,  and 
he  murmured  smiling,  "  Ah  !  Terry  won't  like  that ! 
Terry  won't  like  that ! ! " 

The  same  year  Crabbe  was  invited  to  spend  Christ- 
mas at  his  old  home,  Belvoir  Castle,  but  felt  unable 
to  face  the  fatigue  in  Avintry  weather.  Meantime, 
among   other   occupations    at   home,    he    was    finding 


190  CRABBE  [chap. 

time  to  wnrite  verse  copiously.  Twenty-one  manuscript 
volumes  Avere  left  behind  him  at  his  death.  He 
seems  to  have  said  little  about  it  at  home,  for  his 
son  tells  us  that  in  the  last  year  of  his  father's  life 
he  learned  for  the  first  time  that  another  volume  of 
Tales  was  all  but  ready  for  the  press.  "  There  are  in 
my  recess  at  home,"  he  writes  to  George,  "where  they 
have  been  long  undisturbed,  another  series  of  such 
stories,  in  number  and  quantity  sufficient  for  another 
octavo  volume ;  and  as  I  suppose  they  are  much  like 
the  former  in  execution,  and  sufficiently  difierent  in 
events  and  characters,  they  may  hereafter,  in  peaceable 
times,  be  worth  something  to  you."  A  selection  from 
these  formed  the  Postliumons  Poems,  first  given  to  the 
world  in  the  edition  of  1834.  The  Talcs  of  the  Hall,  it 
may  be  supposed,  had  not  quite  justified  the  publisher's 
expectations.  John  Murray  had  sought  to  revive 
interest  in  the  whole  bulk  of  Crabbe's  poetry,  of  which 
he  now  possessed  the  copyright,  by  commissioning 
Richard  Westall,  R.A.,  to  produce  a  series  of  illustra- 
tions of  the  poems,  thirty-one  in  number,  engravings  of 
which  were  sold  in  sets  at  two  guineas.  The  original 
drawings,  in  delicate  water-colour,  in  the  present  Mr. 
John  Murray's  possession,  are  sufficiently  grim.  The 
engravings,  lacking  the  relief  of  colour,  are  even  more 
so,  and  a  rapid  survey  of  the  entire  series  amply  shows 
how  largely  in  Crabbe's  subjects  bulks  the  element  of 
human  misery.  Crabbe  was  much  flattered  by  this 
new  tribute  to  his  reputation,  and  dwells  on  it  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Leadbeater. 

A  letter  written  from  Mrs.  Hoare's  house  at  Hamp- 
stead  in  June  1825  presents  an  agreeable  picture  of 
his  holiday  enjoyments  : — 


XI,]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  191 

"  My  time  passes  I  cannot  tell  how  jileasantly  when  the 
pain  leaves  me.  To-day  I  read  one  of  my  lonj^  stories  to  my 
friends  and  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillio  and  her  sister.  It  was  a  task ; 
but  they  encouraged  me,  and  were,  or  seemed,  gratified.  I 
rhyme  at  Ham^jstead  with  a  great  deal  of  facility,  for  nothing 
interrupts  me  but  kind  calls  to  something  pleasant ;  and 
though  all  this  makes  juirting  painful,  it  will,  I  hoi>e,  make 
me  resolute  to  enter  u^ion  my  duties  diligently  when  I  return. 
I  am  too  nuich  indulged.  Except  a  return  of  pain,  and  that 
not  severe,  I  have  good  health  ;  and  if  my  walks  are  not  so 
long,  they  are  more  frequent.  I  have  seen  many  things  and 
many  people  ;  have  seen  Mr.  Southey  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  ; 
have  been  some  days  with  Mr.  Rogers,  and  at  last  have  been 
at  the  Athenanim,  and  purpose  to  visit  the  Royal  Institution. 
I  have  been  to  Richnumd  in  a  steamboat ;  seen  also  the 
picture-galleries  and  some  other  exhibitions  ;  l)ut  I  passed  one 
Sunday  in  London  with  discontent,  doing  no  duty  myself,  nor 
listening  to  another  ;  and  I  hope  my  uneasiness  proceeded  not 
merely  from  breaking  a  habit.  We  had  a  dinner  social  and 
pleasant,  if  the  hours  before  it  had  been  rightly  spent ;  but  I 
would  not  willingly  pass  another  Sunday  in  the  same  manner. 
I  have  my  home  with  my  friends  here  (Mrs.  Hoare's),  and 
exchange  it  with  reluctance  for  the  Hummums  occasionally. 
Such  is  the  state  of  the  garden  here,  in  which  I  walk  and  read, 
that,  in  a  morning  like  this,  the  smell  of  the  flowers  is 
fragrant  beyond  anything  I  ever  perceived  before.  It  is 
what  I  can  suppose  may  be  in  Persia  or  other  oriental 
countries — a  Paradisiacal  sweetness.  I  am  told  that  I  or  my 
verses,  or  perhaps  both,  have  abuse  in  a  book  of  Mr.  Colburn's 
publishing,  called  The  Spirit  of  the  Times.  I  believe  I  felt 
something  indignant ;  but  my  engraved  seal  dropped  out  of 
the  socket  and  was  lost,  and  I  perceived  this  moved  me  much 
more  than  the  Spirit  of  Mr.  Ilazlitt." 

The  reference  is,  of  course,  to  Hazlitt's  Spirit  of 
the  Age,  then  lately  published.  In  reviewing  the 
poetry  of  his  day  Hazlitt  has  a  chapter  devoted  to 
Campbell  and  Ciabbe.     The  criticism  on  the  latter  is 


192  CRABBE  [chap. 

little  more  than  a  greatly  over-drawn  picture  of 
CraLbe's  choice  of  vice  and  misery  for  his  subjects, 
and  ignores  entirely  any  other  side  of  his  genius, 
ending  with  the  remark  that  he  would  long  be  "a 
thorn  in  the  side  of  English  poetry."  Crabbe  was  wise 
in  not  attaching  too  much  importance  to  Hazlitt's 
attack, 

Joanna  Baillie  and  her  sister  Agnes,  mentioned  in 
the  letter  just  cited,  saw  much  of  Crabbe  during  his 
visits  to  Hampstead.  A  letter  from  Joanna  to  the 
younger  George  speaks,  as  do  all  his  friends,  of  his 
gro^ving  kindliness  and  courtesy,  but  notes  how  often, 
in  the  matter  of  judging  his  fellow-creatures,  his  head 
and  his  heart  were  in  antagonism.  While  at  times 
Joanna  was  surprised  and  provoked  by  the  charitable 
allowances  the  old  parson  made  for  the  unworthy,  at 
other  times  she  noted  also  that  she  would  hear  him, 
when  acts  of  others  were  the  subject  of  praise,  suggest- 
ing, "  in  a  low  voice  as  to  himself,"  the  possible  mixture 
of  less  generous  motives.  The  analytical  method  was 
clearly  dominant  in  Crabbe  always,  and  not  merely 
when  he  wrote  his  poetry,  and  is  itself  the  clue  to  much 
in  his  treatment  of  human  nature. 

Of  Crabbe's  simplicity  and  unworldliness  in  other 
matters  Miss  Baillie  furnishes  an  amusing  instance. 
She  writes : — 

"  While  he  was  staying  with  Mrs.  Hoare  a  few  years  since 
I  sent  him  one  day  the  present  of  a  blackcock,  and  a  message 
with  it  that  Mr.  Crabbe  should  look  at  the  bird  before  it  was 
delivered  to  the  cook,  or  something  to  that  purpose.  He 
looked  at  the  bird  as  desired,  and  then  went  to  Mrs.  Hoare  in 
some  perplexity  to  ask  whether  he  ought  not  to  have  it 
stuffed,  instead  of  eating  it.     She  could  not,  in  her  own  house, 


XI.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  193 

tell  him  that  it  was  simply  intended  for  the  larder,  and  he 
was  at  the  trouble  and  expense  of  having  it  stuffed,  lest  I 
should  think  proper  respect  had  not  been  put  upon  my 
present." 

Altogether  the  picture  presented  in  these  last  years 
of  Crabbe's  personality  is  that  of  a  pious  and  benevolent 
old  man,  endearing  himself  to  old  and  new  friends,  and 
\vdth  manners  somewhat  formal  and  overdone,  repre- 
senting perhaps  what  in  his  humbler  Aldeburgh  days 
he  had  imagined  to  be  those  of  the  upper  circles,  rather 
than  what  he  had  found  them  to  be  in  his  prosperous 
later  days  in  London. 

In  the  autumn  of  1831  he  was  visiting  his  faithful 
and  devoted  friends,  the  Samuel  Hoares,  at  their  resi- 
dence in  Clifton.  The  house  was  apparently  in  Princes 
Buildings,  or  in  the  Paragon,  for  the  poet  describes 
accurately  the  scene  that  meets  the  eye  from  the  buck- 
windows  of  those  pleasant  streets  : — 

"  I  have  to  thank  my  friends  for  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
as  well  as  comfortable  rooms  you  could  desire.  I  look  from 
my  window  upon  the  Avon  and  its  wooded  and  rocky  bounds 
— the  trees  yet  green.  A  vessel  is  sailing  down,  and  here  comes 
a  steamer  (Irish,  I  suppose).  I  have  in  view  the  end  of  the  Cliff 
to  the  right,  and  on  my  left  a  wide  and  varied  prospect  over 
Bristol,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  at  present  the  novelty 
makes  it  very  interesting.  Clifton  was  always  a  favourite 
place  with  me.  I  have  more  strength  and  more  spirits  since 
my  arrival  at  this  place,  and  do  not  despair  of  giving  a  good 
account  of  my  exciu'sion  on  my  return." 

It  is  noteworthy  that  Crabbe,  who  as  a  young  man 
witnessed  the  Lord  George  Gordon  Riots  of  1780, 
should,  fifty  years  later,  have  been  in  Bristol  during 

N 


194  CRABBE  [chap. 

the  disgraceful  Reform  Bill  Eising  of  1831,  which, 
through  the  cowardice  or  connivance  of  the  govern- 
ment of  the  day,  went  on  unchecked  to  work  such 
disastrous  results  to  life  and  property.  On  October 
the  26th  he  writes  to  his  son  : — 

"  I  have  been  with  Mrs.  Hoare  at  Bristol,  where  all  appears 
stiU.  Should  anything  arLse  to  alarm,  you  may  rely  upon  our 
care  to  avoid  danger.  Sir  Charles  Wetherell,  to  be  sure,  is 
not  popular,  nor  is  the  Bishop,  but  I  trust  that  both  will  be 
safe  from  violence — abuse  they  will  not  mind.  The  Bishop 
seems  a  good-humoured  man,  and,  except  by  the  populace,  is 
greatly  admired." 

A  few  days  later,  however,  he  has  to  record  that  his 
views  of  the  situation  were  not  to  be  fulfilled.  He 
writes : — 

"  Bristol,  I  suppose,  never  in  the  most  turbulent  times  of 
old,  witnessed  such  outrage.  Queen's  Square  is  but  half 
standing  ;  half  is  a  smoking  ruin.  As  you  may  be  apprehen- 
sive for  my  safety,  it  is  right  to  let  you  know  that  my  friends 
and  I  are  undisturbed,  except  by  our  fears  for  the  progress  of 
this  mob-government,  Avhich  is  already  somewhat  broken  into 
parties,  who  wander  stupidly  about,  or  sleep  Avherever  they 
fall  wearied  with  their  work  aud  their  indulgence.  The 
military  are  now  in  considerable  force,  and  many  men  are 
sworn  in  as  constables  ;  many  volunteers  are  met  in  Clifton 
Churchyard,  with  white  round  one  arm  to  distinguish  them, 
some  with  guns  and  the  rest  with  bludgeons.  The  Mayor's 
house  has  been  destroyed  ;  the  Bishop's  palace  plundered, 
but  whether  burned  or  not  I  do  not  know.  This  morning  a 
party  of  soldiers  attacked  the  crowd  in  the  Square  ;  some  lives 
were  lost,  and  the  mob  dispersed,  whether  to  meet  again  is 
doubtful.  It  has  been  a  dreadful  time,  but  we  may  reasonably 
hope  it  is  now  over.  People  are  frightened  certainly,  and  no 
wonder,  for  it  is  evident  these  \wot  wretches  would  plunder 
to  the  extent  of  their  power.     Attemjjts  were  made  to  burn 


XL]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  195 

the  Cathedral,  but  failed.  ISIany  lives  were  lost.  To  attemiit 
any  other  subject  now  would  be  fruidess.  We  can  think, 
speak,  and  write  only  of  our  fears,  hopes,  or  troubles.  I 
would  have  gone  to  Bristol  to-day,  but  Mrs.  Hoare  was 
unwilling  that  I  should.  She  thought,  and  perhai)s  rightly, 
that  clergymen  were  marked  objects.  I  therefore  only  went 
half-way,  and  of  course  could  learn  but  little.  All  now  is 
quiet  and  well." 

In  the  former  of  these  last  quoted  letters  Crabhe 
refers  sadly  to  the  pain  of  parting  from  his  old  Hamp- 
stead  friends, — a  parting  which  he  felt  might  well  be 
the  last.  His  anticipation  was  to  be  fulfilled.  He  left 
Clifton  in  November,  and  went  direct  to  his  son 
George,  at  Pucklechurch.  He  was  able  to  preach  twice 
for  his  son,  who  congratulated  the  old  man  on  the 
power  of  his  voice,  and  other  encouraging  signs  of 
vigour.  "I  will  venture  a  good  sum,  sir,"  he  said 
"  that  you  will  be  assisting  me  ten  years  hence."  "  Ten 
weeks"  was  Crabbe's  answer,  and  the  implied  prediction 
was  fulfilled  almost  to  the  day,  After  a  fortnight  at 
Pucklechurch,  Crabbe  returned  to  his  om'u  home  at 
Trowbridge.  Early  in  January  he  reported  himself  as 
more  and  more  sul)ject  to  drowsiness,  which  he 
accepted  as  sign  of  increasing  weakness.  Later  in 
the  month  he  was  prostrated  by  a  severe  cold.  Other 
complications  supervened,  and  it  soon  became  apparent 
that  he  could  not  rally.  After  a  few  days  of  much 
suffering,  and  pious  resignation,  he  passed  away  on  the 
third  of  February  1832,  with  his  two  sons  and  his 
faithful  nurse  by  his  side.  The  death  of  the  rector 
was  followed  by  every  token  of  general  affection  and 
esteem.  The  past  asperities  of  religious  and  political 
controversy  had  long  ceased,  and  it  was  felt  that  the 


196  CRABBE  [chap. 

■\vliole  parish  had  lost  a  devout  teacher  and  a  generous 
friend.  All  he  had  written  in  The  Borough  and  else- 
Avhere  as  to  the  eccentricities  of  certain  forms  of  dissent 
was  forgotten,  and  all  the  Nonconformist  ministers  of 
the  place  and  neighbourhood  followed  him  to  the  grave. 
A  committee  was  speedily  formed  to  erect  a  monument 
over  his  grave  in  the  chancel.  The  sculptor  chosen 
produced  a  group  of  a  type  then  common.  "A  figure 
representing  the  dying  poet,  casting  his  eyes  on  the 
sacred  volume  ;  two  celestial  beings,  one  looking  on  as 
if  awaiting  his  departure."  Underneath  was  inscribed, 
after  the  usual  words  telling  his  age,  and  period  of  his 
work  at  Trowbridge,  the  following  not  exaggerated 
tribute : — 

"  Born  in  huniMe  life,  he  made  liiniself  what  he  was. 

By  the  force  of  his  genius, 

He  broke  through  the  obscurity  of  his  birth 

Yet  never  ceased  to  feel  for  the 

Less  fortunate  ; 

Entering  (as  his  work  can  testify)  into 

The  sorrows  and  deprivations 

Of  the  poorest  of  his  parishioners  ; 

And  so  discharging  the  duties  of  his  station  as  a 

jNIinister  and  a  magistrate, 

As  to  acquire  the  respect  and  esteem 

Of  all  his  neighbours. 

As  a  writer,  he  is  well  described  by  a  great 

Contemporary,  as 

'  Nature's  sternest  painter  yet  her  best.' " 

A  fresh  edition  of  Crabbe's  complete  works  was  at 
once  arranged  for  by  John  Murray,  to  be  edited  by 
George  Crabbe,  the  son,  who  was  also  to  furni.sh  the 
prefatory  memoir.     The  edition  appeared  in  1834,  in 


XI.]  LAST  YKARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  197 

eight  volumes.  An  engraving  by  Finden  from  I'hillips's 
portrait  of  the  poet  was  prefixed  to  the  last  volume, 
and  each  volume  contained  frontispieces  and  vignettes 
from  drawings  by  Clarksou  Stantield  of  scenery  or 
l)uildings  connected  ^vith  Crabbe's  various  residences  in 
Suffolk  and  the  Vale  of  Belvoir.  The  volumes  wore 
alily  edited ;  the  editor's  notes,  together  with  quota- 
tions from  Crabbe's  earliest  critics  in  the  Edinburgh 
and  Quarterhj  Eevietvs,  were  interesting  and  informing, 
and  the  illustrations  happily  chosen.  But  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  acquiesce  in  an  editorial  decision  on  a  more 
important  matter.  The  eighth  volume  is  occupied  by 
a  selection  from  the  Tales  left  in  manuscript  by  Craljbe, 
to  which  reference  has  already  been  made.  The  son, 
whose  criticisms  of  his  father  are  generally  sound, 
evidently  had  misgivings  concerning  these  from  the 
first.  In  a  prefatory  note  to  this  volume,  the  brothers 
(writing  as  executors)  confess  these  misgivings.  They 
were  startled  on  reading  the  new  poems  in  print  at 
the  manifest  need  of  revision  and  correction  before 
they  could  be  given  to  the  world.  They  delicately 
hint  that  the  meaning  is  often  obscure,  and  the 
"images  left  imperfect."  This  criticism  is  absolutel}^ 
just,  but  unfortunately  some  less  well-judging  persons 
though  "of  the  highest  eminence  in  literature'"'  had 
advised  the  contrary.  So  "  second  thoughts  prevailed," 
instead  of  those  "third  thoughts  which  are  a  riper 
first,"  and  the  Tales,  or  a  selection  from  them,  were 
printed.  They  have  certainly  not  added  to  Crabbe's 
reputation.  There  are  occasional  touches  of  his  old 
and  best  pathos,  as  in  the  story  of  Rachel ;  and  in  T/ie 
Ancient  Mansion  there  are  brief  descriptions  of  rural 
nature  under  the  varying  aspects  of  the  seasons,  which 


198  CRABBE  [chap. 

exhibit  all  Crabbe's  old  and  close  observation  of  detail, 
such  as  :— 

"  And  then  the  wintry  winds  begin  to  blow, 
Then  fall  the  flaky  stars  of  gathering  snow, 
When  on  the  thorn  the  ripening  sloe,  yet  blue, 
Takes  the  bright  varnish  of  the  morning  dew  ; 
The  aged  moss  grows  brittle  on  the  pale, 
The  dry  boughs  splinter  in  the  windy  gale." 

But  there  is  much  in  these  last  Tales  that  is  trivial  and 
tedious,  and  it  must  be  said  that  their  publication  has 
chiefly  served  to  deter  many  readers  from  the  pursuit 
of  what  is  best  and  most  rewardful  in  the  study  of 
Crabbe.  To  what  extent  the  new  edition  served  to 
revive  any  flagging  interest  in  the  poet  cannot  perhaps 
be  estimated.  The  edition  must  have  been  large,  for 
during  many  years  past  no  book  of  the  kind  has  been 
more  prominent  in  second-hand  catalogues.  As  we 
have  seen,  the  popularity  of  Crabbe  was  already  on 
the  wane,  and  the  appearance  of  the  two  volumes  of 
Tennyson,  in  1842,  must  further  have  served  to  divert 
attention  from  poetry  so  widely  different.  Workman- 
ship so  casual  and  imperfect  as  Crabbe's  had  now  to 
contend  with  such  consummate  art  and  diction  as  that 
of  The  Miller's  Daughter  and  Dora. 

As  has  been  more  than  once  remarked,  these  stories 
belong  to  the  category  of  fiction  as  well  as  of  poetry, 
and  the  duration  of  their  power  to  attract  was  affected 
not  only  by  the  appearance  of  greater  poets,  but  of 
prose  story-tellers  with  equal  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart,  and  Avith  other  gifts  to  which  Crabbe  could 
make  no  claim.  His  knowledge  and  observation  of 
human  nature  were  not  perhaps  inferior  to  Jane 
Austen's,  but  he  could  never   have  matched  her  in 


XI.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  199 

prose  fiction.  He  certainly  -was  not  delicicnt  in 
humour,  Init  it  was  not  his  dominant  gift,  as  it  was 
hers.  Again,  his  knowledge  of  the  life  and  social  ways 
of  the  class  to  which  ho  nominally  belonged,  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  intimate.  Crubbc  could  not  have 
written  prose  fiction  with  any  approximation  to  the 
manners  of  real  life.  His  characters  would  have 
certainly  thnu'rd  and  the&cd  one  another  as  they  do  in 
his  verso,  and  a  clergyman  would  always  have  been 
addressed  as  "  Reverend  Sir  !  " 

Surely,  it  will  be  argued,  all  this  is  sufficient  to 
account  for  the  entire  disappearance  of  Crabbe  from 
the  list  of  poets  whom  every  educated  lover  of  poetry 
is  expected  to  appreciate.  Yet  the  fact  remains,  as 
FitzGerald  quotes  from  Sir  Leslie  Stephen,  that  "  with 
all  its  short-  and  long-comings,  Crabl)e's  better  work 
leaves  its  mark  on  the  reader's  mind  and  memory  as 
only  the  work  of  genius  can,"  and  almost  all  English 
poets  and  critics  of  mark,  during  his  time  and  after  it, 
have  agreed  in  recognising  the  same  fact.  We  know 
what  was  thought  of  him  by  Walter  Scott,  Words- 
worth, Byron,  and  Tennyson.  Critics  differing  as 
widely  in  other  matters  as  Macaulay,  John  Henry 
Newman,  Mr.  Swinburne,  and  Dr.  Gore,  have  found 
in  Crabbe  an  insight  into  the  springs  of  character, 
and  a  tragic  power  of  dealing  with  them,  of  a 
rare  kind.  No  doubt  Crabbe  demands  something 
of  his  readers.  He  asks  from  them  a  corresponding 
interest  in  human  nature.  He  asks  for  a  kindred 
hal)it  of  observation,  and  a  kindred  patience.  The 
present  generation  of  poetry-readers  cares  mainlj^  for 
style.  While  this  remains  the  haljit  of  the  town, 
Crabbe  will    have   to  wait   for   any  popular   revival. 


200  CRABBE  [chap. 

But  he  is  not  so  dead  as  the  world  thinks.  He  has  his 
constant  readers  still,  but  they  talk  little  of  their  poet. 
"They  give  Heaven  thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of 
it."  These  are  they  to  whom  the  "unruly  wills  and 
affections  "  of  their  kind  are  eternally  interesting,  even 
when  studied  through  the  medium  of  a  uniform  and 
monotonous  metre. 

A  Trowbridge  friend  wrote  to  Crabbe's  son,  after  his 
father's  death,  "  When  I  called  on  him,  soon  after  his 
arrival,  I  remarked  that  his  house  and  garden  were 
pleasant  and  secluded :  he  replied  that  he  preferred 
walking  in  the  streets,  and  observing  the  faces  of  the 
passers-by,  to  the  finest  natural  scenes."  There  is  a 
poignant  line  in  Maud,  where  the  distracted  lover 
dwells  on  "the  faces  that  one  meets."  It  was  not  by 
the  "sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet,"  that  these  two 
observers  of  life  were  impressed,  but  rather  by  vicious 
records  and  hopeless  outlooks.  It  was  such  counte- 
nances that  Crabbe  looked  for,  and  speculated  on,  for 
in  such  he  found  food  for  that  pity  and  terror  he  most 
loved  to  awaken.  The  starting-point  of  Crabbe's  desire 
to  portray  village-life  truly  was  a  certain  indignation 
he  felt  at  the  then  still-surviving  conventions  of  the 
Pastoral  Poets.  We  have  lately  watched,  in  the  litera- 
ture of  our  own  day,  a  somewhat  similar  reaction 
against  sentimental  pictures  of  country-life.  The 
feebler  members  of  a  family  of  novelists,  which  some 
one  wittily  labelled  as  the  "kail-yard  school,"  so 
irritated  a  young  Scottish  journalist,  the  late  Mr. 
George  Douglas,  that  he  resolved  to  provide  what 
he  conceived  might  be  a  useful  corrective  for  the 
public  mind.  To  counteract  the  half-truths  of  the 
opposite  school,  he  wrote  a  talc  of  singular  power  and 


XI.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  201 

promise,  The  Ifouse  with  ihc  Grcrn  ShuUers.  Like  all 
reactions,  it  erred  in  the  violence  of  its  colouring.  If 
intended  as  a  true  picture  of  the  normal  state  of  a 
small  Scottish  pro\incial  town  and  its  society,  it  may 
have  been  as  false  in  its  own  direction  as  the  kail- 
yarders  had  been  in  theirs.  But  for  Mr.  Douglas's 
untimely  death — a  real  loss  to  literature— he  would 
doubtless  have  shown  in  future  fictions  that  the 
pendulum  had  ceased  to  swing,  and  would  have  given 
us  more  artistic,  because  completer,  pictures  of  human 
life.  With  Crabbe  the  force  of  his  primal  bias  never 
ceased  to  act  until  his  life's  end.  The  leaven  of  pro- 
test against  the  sentimentalists  never  quite  worked 
itself  out  in  him,  although,  no  doubt,  in  some  of 
the  later  tales  and  portrayals  of  character,  the  sun 
was  oftener  allowed  to  shine  out  from  behind  the 
clouds. 

We  must  not  forget  this  when  we  are  inclined  to 
accept  without  question  Byron's  famous  eulogium. 
A  poet  is  not  the  "  best "  painter  of  Nature,  merely 
because  he  chooses  one  aspect  of  human  character  and 
human  fortunes  rather  than  another.  If  he  must  not 
conceal  the  sterner  side,  equally  is  he  bound  to  remem- 
ber the  sunnier  and  more  serene.  If  a  poet  is  to  deal 
justly  with  the  life  of  the  rich  or  poor,  he  must  take 
into  fullest  account,  an<l  give  equal  prominence  to,  the 
homes  where  happiness  abides.  He  must  remember 
that  though  there  is  a  skeleton  in  every  cupboard,  it 
must  not  be  dragged  out  for  a  purpose,  nor  treated 
as  if  it  were  the  sole  inhabitant.  He  nmst  deal  with 
the  happinesses  of  life  and  not  only  with  its  miseries; 
with  its  harmonies  and  not  only  its  dislocations.  He 
must  remember  the  thousand  homes  in  which  is  to 


202  CRABBE  [chap. 

be  found  the  quiet  and  faithful  discharge  of  duty, 
inspired  at  once  and  illumined  by  the  family  afifections, 
and  not  forget  that  in  such  as  these  the  strength  of  a 
country  lies.  Crabbe  is  often  spoken  of  as  our  first 
great  realist  in  the  poetry  and  fiction  of  the  last 
century,  and  the  word  is  often  used  as  if  it  meant 
chiefly  plain-speaking  as  to  the  sordid  aspects  of  life. 
But  he  is  the  truest  realist  who  does  not  suppress  any 
side  of  that  which  may  be  seen,  if  looked  for.  Although 
Murillo  threw  into  fullest  relief  the  grimy  feet  of  his 
beggar-boys  which  so  offended  Mr.  Euskin,  still  what 
eternally  attracts  us  to  his  canvas  is  not  the  soiled  feet 
but  the  "  sweet  boy  faces  "  that  "  laugh  amid  the  Seville 
grapes."  It  was  because  Crabbe  too  often  laid  greater 
stress  on  the  ugliness  than  on  the  beauty  of  things, 
that  he  fails  to  that  extent  to  be  the  full  and  adequate 
painter  and  poet  of  humble  life. 

He  was  a  dispeller  of  many  illusions.  He  could  not 
give  us  the  joy  that  Goldsmith,  CoAvper,  and  William 
Barnes  have  given,  but  he  discharged  a  function  no 
less  valualile  than  theirs,  and  with  an  individuality 
that  has  given  him  a  high  and  enduring  place  in  the 
poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  within  the  last  twenty 
or  thirty  years  there  has  been  a  marked  revival  of 
interest  in  the  poetry  of  Crabbe.  To  the  influence  of 
Edward  FitzGerald's  fascinating  personality  this  revival 
may  be  partly,  but  is  not  wholly,  due.  It  may  be  of 
the  nature  of  a  reaction  against  certain  canons  of  taste 
too  long  blindly  followed.  It  may  be  that,  like  the 
Queen  in  Hariild,  we  are  beginning  to  crave  for  "more 
matter  and  less  art "  ;  or  that,  like  the  Lady  of  Shalott, 
we  are  growing  "half-sick  of  shadows,"  and  long  for 


XI.]  LAST  YEARS  AT  TROWBRIDGE  203 

a  closer  touch  with  the  real  joys  and  sorrows  of  common 
people.  Whatever  l)o  the  cause,  there  can  he  no  reason 
to  regret  the  fact,  or  to  doul)t  that  in  these  days  of 
"art  for  art's  sake,"  the  influence  of  Crabbe's  verse  is 
at  once  of  a  bracing  and  a  sobering  kind. 


INDEX 


Aaron  the  Oipsij,  00. 

Addison,  103. 

Adrenlures  (if  Richard,  The,  167. 

Aldoburgli,  10-17,  40  seq.,  59,  (50 

64,  109,  131,  119,  1G7. 
Allrgro(yV\\ion),  47. 
Alliiigton  (Limohi.shire),  64. 
Ancient  Mansion,  The,  197. 
Annals  of  the  Parish,    'J he  (G;dt), 

103. 
Annnal  Register,  The,  54,  62,  101. 
Austen,  Jane,  137,  179,  198. 
Autobiography,  Crabbe's,  38. 

B 
Baillie,  Agnes,  191,  192. 

Joainia,  191,  192. 

Barnes,  William,  202. 

Barrie,  J.  M.,  115. 

Barton,  Bernard,  7. 

Basket- Woman,    The   (Edgewortli), 

103. 
Batli,  153,  154,  181. 
Beccles,  13,  65,  101. 
Belvoir  Castle,  41  scq.,  55,  57,  64, 

65. 
Biograpliy,    Crabbe's,    34,    35,    43, 

53,61,64.  69,71,  74,  75,  78,79, 

91,  131,  148,  151,  152,  154,  158. 
"Blaney,"120. 
Borough,  The,  6,  59,  75,  78,  90,  94, 

107,  lOS-127,  147,  159,  178,  179, 

189. 


Boswell,  46. 

Bowles,  William  Lisle,  153,  154. 

Boys  at  School,  166. 

Bristol,  193,  194. 

Bunbury,  Sir  Henry,  35,  36. 

Burke,   25-32,   34-54,  63,   93,  108, 

157, 158. 
Burns,  23,  24,  47,  89. 
Butler,  Joseph,  68. 
Byron,  3,   14,   106,  139,  159,   179, 

199,  201. 


Campbell,  Thomas,  154,  157,  191. 
Candidate,  The,  22-25. 
Canterbury    Tales,    The  (Chaucer), 

125,  164. 
Castle  Rackrent  (Edgeworth),  100. 
Celtic  Club,  186. 
Chatterton,  16,  24. 
Chaucer,  51,  124. 
Childe  Ilanld  (Byron),  106,  160. 
Chui-cli,  English,  53. 
Churchill  (poet),  24,  107. 
Clarissa    Ilarloxoe      (Richardson)- 

1S2. 
"Clelia,"  120. 
Clergy,    non-residence   of,    67,    77 ; 

sketches  of,  52,  112,  110,  114. 
Clifton,  193,  195. 
Coleridge,  3,  88,  59,  132,  153. 
Confessions  of  an   Opium    F.ater, 

(De  Quincey),  84. 
Confidant,  The,  145. 

205 


206 


CRABBE 


Courtborpe,  Mr.,  157. 

Cowley,  6. 

Cowper,  24,  47,  49,  202. 

Crabbe,  George,  birlli  and  family 
history  of,  5  ;  early  literary  bent, 
6  ;  school  days,  5-6  ;  apprenticed 
to  a  surgeon,  6  ;  life  at  Wood- 
bridge,  7  ;  falls  in  love,  8  ;  first 
efforts  in  verse,  9-11  ;  practises 
as  a  surgeon,  12;  dangerous  ill- 
ness, 13 ;  engagement  to  Miss 
Elmy,  13  ;  seeks  his  fortune  in 
London,  16  ;  poverty  in  London, 
18-33 ;  keeps  a  diary,  18  ;  un- 
successful attempts  to  sell  his 
poems,  20 ;  appeals  to  Edmund 
Burke,  28 ;  Burke's  help  and 
patronage,  28  ;  invited  to  Burke's 
country  seat,  30,  38 ;  publishes 
The  Library,  31,  32  ;  friendship 
with  Burke,  34-54  ;  second  letter 
to  Burke,  35  ;  meetings  with  pro- 
minent men,  38 ;  takes  Holy 
Orders,  39-40 ;  returns  to  Al  de- 
burgh  as  curate,  40 ;  coldly  re- 
ceived by  his  fellow-townsmen, 
41  ;  becomes  domestic  chaplain 
to  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  41  ;  life 
at  Belvoir  Castle,  41  seq.,  57, 
60  ;  The  Village,  47-53  ;  receives 
LL.B.  degree,  56  ;  presented  to 
two  livings,  56  ;  marriage,  57  ; 
curate  of  Stathern,  60 ;  his 
children,  60,  65,  73 ;  village 
traditions  concerning  him,  61  ; 
The  Newspaper,  62 ;  life  at 
Stathern,  63;  moves  to  Muston, 
64  ;  revisits  his  native  place,  65  ; 
goes  to  Parham,  66,  71  ;  lives  at 
Great  Glemham  Hall,  73 ;  moves 
to  Rendham,  77  ;  ill-health,  78, 
79  ;  use  of  opium,  79,  80,  84,  85, 
88  ;  returns  to  Muston,  90,  91 ; 
publishes  a  new  volume  of  poems, 
92  ;  The  Parish  Register,  92-107  ; 


his  great  popularity,  103,  122; 
friendship  with  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
10 J,  105  ;  The  Borough,  108-127  ; 
Tales,  128-145 ;  visit  to  London, 
147  ;  returns  to  Muston,  147 ; 
death  of  his  wife,  147 ;  serious 
illness,  148 ;  rector  of  Trow- 
bridge, 148,  150  ;  departure  from 
Muston,  148;  intercourse  with 
literary  men  in  London,  154, 
161  ;  a  member  of  the  "  Literary 
Society,"  158 ;  receives  £3000 
from  J  olm  Murray,  159  ;  returns 
to  Trowbridge,  159  ;  Tales  of  the 
Hall,  163 ;  visits  Scott  in  Edin- 
burgh, 185  seq.  ;  Posthumoiis 
Poems,  190,  197,  198 ;  last  years 
at  Trowbridge,  193  ;  illness  and 
death,  195  ;  his  religious  tempera- 
ment, 15,  40,  1S5;  rusticity  and 
lack  of  polish,  42,  56;  indiffer- 
ence to  art,  69  ;  want  of  tact, 
69 ;  love  of  female  society,  151, 
152,  163,  156,  157  ;  acquaintance 
and  sympathy  with  the  poor,  3, 
10,  15,  50,  51,  52,  67,  121,  155  ; 
his  preaching,  67  ;  inequality  of 
his  work,  1,  173,  174,  182,  198; 
influence  of  preceding  poets,  2,  6, 
95,  97,  99,  104,  125  ;  his  reputa- 
tion at  its  height,  3,  159  ;  know- 
ledge of  botany,  14,  39,  50,  61, 
66  ;  his  descriptions  of  nature, 
14,  15,  50,  118,  132,  172;  first 
great  realist  in  verse,  54,  201, 
202 ;  fondness  for  verbal  anti- 
thesis, 99,  115;  his  epigrams, 
99  ;  defective  technique,  100  ;  his 
influence  on  subsequent  novelists, 
103,  104 ;  parodies  of  his  style, 
115,  116 ;  his  sense  of  humour, 
117,  118,  142,  199  ;  defects  of  his 
poetry,  125 ;  his  retentive 
memory,  108 ;  his  characters 
drawn  from  life,  126;  his  treat- 


INDKX 


207 


ment  of  peasant  life,  133  ;  power 
of  analysiiit;  character,  138,  139, 
182,  183,  192 ;  choice  of  sordid 
and  gloomy  subjects,  161,  172, 
178,  190,  192,  202;  his  lyric 
verses,  175-176;  Edward  Fitz- 
Gerald's  great  admiration  of  liis 
poetr>',  176 ;  contemporary  and 
other  estimates  of  his  work,  179, 
180,  199  ;  revival  of  interest  in 
him,  176.  202. 
Crabbe,  George  (father  of  the  poet), 
5,  11,  40. 

Mrs.  (mother),  5,  11,  15,  40. 

George  (son),  7,  15,  24,  30,  34, 

35,  42,  46,  53,  5S,  60,  69,  71,  74, 
78,  79,  91,  101,  118,  122,  131, 
148,  150,  151,  152,  156,  167,  168, 
177,  185,  195,  196. 

Mrs.  (wife),  7,  8,  13,  57,  58, 

59,  63,  73,  74,  76,  122,  131,  146, 
147,  150. 

John,  60,  92,  122,  150,  155, 

159,  1S4. 

Edmund,  65. 

William,  71. 

(brother),  128. 

George  (grandson),  177. 

Caroline,  185. 

Critical  Review,  32. 

D 

Daffodils,  The  (Wordsworth),  182. 
Dejection,  Ode  to  (Coleridge),  132. 
Delay  has  Danger,  172,  173,  180, 

183. 
De  Quincey,  84,  85,  88. 
Deserted  Village,  The  (Goldsmith), 

2,  30,  46,  47,  48,  54,  95,  96. 
Diary,  Crabbe's,  18-22,34, 151, 155, 

156. 
Dickens,  99. 

Dodsley  (imblisher),  19,  32. 
Dora  (Tennyson),  198. 


Douglas,  George,  200,  201. 
Dunciad  (Pope),  10,  21. 
Dunwich,  4. 

E 

Edgeworlh,  IMiss,  103. 
Edinl)urgh,  185. 

Edinburgh  Annual  Jlegister,  106. 
Edinburgh  Review,   103,   123,  128, 

138,  197. 
Edward  Shore,  139-141,  183. 
Elegant  Extracts  (Vieesimus  Knox), 

54,  146. 
Elegy  in  a  Country   Chitrchyard, 

(Gray),  2,  47. 
Ellen,  172. 
Elniy,   Miss  Sarah.      See  Crabbe, 

Mrs.  (wife). 
English    Bards    and    Scotch    Re- 
viewers (Byron),  113. 
Enoch  Arden  (Tennyson),  129,  131. 
Erskine,  William,  188,  189. 
Essay  on  Man  (Pope),  10. 
Eustace  Grey.   See  Sir  Eustace  Grey. 
Excursion,  The  ( H  ordsworth),  182. 


Felon,  the  condemned,  Description 

of,  110. 
Fielding,  103. 
Finden  (artist),  197. 
FitzGerald,  Edward,  7,  58,  79,  80, 

146,  151,  152,  177,  182,  199,  202. 

W'illiaiu  Thomas,  113. 

Fox,  Charles  James,  38,  47,  73,  93, 

94,  109,  154,  157,  158. 
Henry  Kichard.    See  Holland, 

Lord. 
Frank  Courtship,  The,  142-145. 
Fund,  The  Literary,  113,  114. 


Gentleman  Farmer,  The,  138. 
Qentleman's  Magazine,  113.' 


208 


CRABBE 


George  IV.,  185,  186,  188. 
Glemham,  73,  74,  149. 
Gljnin,  Dr.  Robert,  44. 
Goldsmith,  2,  14,  24,  30,  46,  47,  50, 

51,  95,  99,  104,  146,  183,  202. 
Gordou,  Lord  George,  22. 
Gore,   Dr.  (Bishop  of  Worcester), 

138,  139,  199. 
Grantham,  64. 
Gray,  2,  14,  24,  47,  183. 


H 

Hall  (if  Justice,  The,  90,  92,  175. 
Hanipstead,  154,  184,  190. 
Ilanmer,  Sir  Thomas.    Memoir  and 

CorresjJondence  of,  35. 
Hatchard,    John    (publisher),    92, 

105,  128. 
Haunted  House,  The  [Rood),  100. 
Hazlitt,  191,  192. 
Heart  of  Midlothian,  The  (Scott), 

188. 
Henry  V.  (Shakespeare),  140. 
"Hetty  Sorrel,"  99. 
Highlanders,  187. 
Hoare  family,  154,  155,  184,  190, 

192,  193,  194,  195. 
Hogarth,  133. 
Holland,  Lord,  92,  94. 
House  with  the  Green  Shutters,  The 

(George  Douglas),  201. 
Huchon,  U.  (University  of  Nancy), 

36. 
Human  Life  (Rogers),  161. 
Huntingdon,  William,  91. 
Hutton,  Rev.  W.  H.,  65,  67. 


Inebriety,  9,  11,  25. 

In  Memuriam  (Tennyson),  141. 

"Isaac  Ashford,"  101. 


Jeffrey  {Edinburgh  Review),  103, 
120,  123,  124,  128,  138,  139,  140, 
179. 

Johnson,  Samuel,  24,  38,  45,  46,  49, 
93,  108,  137,  157,  158. 

Jordan,  Mrs.  (actress),  55. 


K 


"Kailyard  school,"  200. 
Keats,"  3,  160. 
Kemble,  Fanny,  177. 
John,  154. 


Lady  Barbara,  169,  172. 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  The  (Scott),  106. 

Lamb,  Charles,  145,  153. 

Lamia  and  other  Poems  (Keats), 

160. 
Lansdowne,  Third  Marquis  of,  154. 
Langhorne  (painter),  99. 
Lay   of  the   Last    Minstrel,    The 

(Scott),  89. 
Lazy  Lawrence  (Edgeworth),  103. 
Leadbeater,   Mrs.,    126,    152,    157, 

163,  171,  190. 
Library,  The,  29,  32,  35,  38,  55,  92, 

104. 
Literary  Society,  The,  158. 
Lockhart,  25,  87, 185, 187, 188, 189. 
Longmans  (publisher),  158. 
Lothian,  Lord,  44. 
Lowell,  177. 

Lover's  Journey,  The,  13,  131. 
Lyrical  Ballads  (Wordsworth),  89. 

M 

Macaulay,  103,  110,  199. 
Maid's  Story,  The,  180. 
Manners,  Lord  Robert,  44,  60,  62. 
Maud  (Tennyson),  200. 


INDEX 


209 


Memoir  of  Crabbe.    See  Biograpliy. 

Methodism,  87. 

Miller's  daughter,  The  (Tenuysoii), 

198, 
Minerva  Press,  Hie,  103. 
"Mira,"8,  9,  18, '23,  24. 
Mitfonl,  Miss,  103. 
Montgomery,  Ilobert,  110. 
Afonthly  Ueriew,  22,  23,  32. 
Moore,  Thomas,  157,  lo8. 
Murillo,  202. 
Murray,   Jolin  (publisher),    3,   31, 

154, 158,  159,  161,  163,  186,  190, 

196, 
Muston  (Ijeicestershire),  64,  65,  147, 

14^. 

N 

New  Monthhj,  16,  38. 
Newman,  O.inlinal,  139,  190. 
Nevjspaper,  The,  62,  63,  92. 
Nineteenth  Centwry,  121. 
North,  Mr.  Dudley,  16,  21,  72,  77, 
92,  94. 

Lord,  21,  29. 

Novels  in  Crabbe's  day,  103,  104. 

0 

Omar  Khayyam,  177. 

Opium  eating,  80,  82,  84,  85,  ?>S. 

Our  V illaije  {MiAS  Mitford),  103. 


Pains  of  Slee})  (Coleridge),  89. 

Parents'  Assistant,  The  (Edge- 
worth),  103. 

Parham,  7,  8,  57,  59,  66,  71,  73, 
149. 

Parish  Register,  The,  46,  47,  73, 
75,  77,  78,  90,  92,  94-107,  108, 
123,  179. 

Parting  Jloiir,  The,  128-131, 

Patron,  The,  43,  135-137. 


Phillips  (artist),  197, 

"  Pho-be  Dawson,"  94,  99, 

Pluralities,  5C,  77, 

Poacher,  7'Ae  (Scott),  106. 

Poor,  State  relief  of,  121. 

Pope,  2,  6,  10,  22,  24,  30,  99,  104, 

125. 
Posthumous  Poems,  190. 
Pretyman,  Bisliop,  77. 
Priest,  Description  of  Parish,  52. 
Progress  of  Error  (Cowper),  53. 
Pucklechurch,  185,  195. 

Q 

Quarterhj    Review,  123,    124,    125, 

197. 
Queensberry,  Duke  of,  44. 

R 

Raleigh,  0. 

Reform  Bill  Riots,  194. 

Rejec  ed  Addresses  (Smith),  115, 

Rendham,  77,  78. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  30,   3      45, 

55,  93. 
Richardson  (novelist),  181,  182. 
Ridout,  Miss  Charlotte,  152, 
Riots,   Gordon,    21,   193 ;    Bristol, 

194, 
Rogers,  Samuel,  154,  157,  158, 159, 

161, 183,  191. 
Rok-eby  (Scott),  107. 
Romilly,  Sir  Samuel,  168. 
Rusk  in,  202. 
Ruth,  172. 
Rutland,  Duke  of,  41,  44,  55,  57, 

64,  148. 

S 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  3,  25,  28,  54,  87, 
104,  105,  100,  107,  1(30,  179,  199. 
Seasons,  The  (Thomson),  47. 
Sellers,  Miss  Edith,  121. 


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